


Good Mistakes

by teatales



Series: aro crowley [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Agender Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Aromantic Crowley, Crowley and Anathema Device are Friends (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Gray-Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Implied Sexual Content, LGBTQ Themes, Non-Binary Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Platonic Life Partners, Queerplatonic Relationships, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Valentine's Day Creep, chapter 1: angst, chapter 2: fluff, like christmas creep but worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2020-10-14 13:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20601917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teatales/pseuds/teatales
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are still settling into their new relationship. Crowley complains about Valentine's Day which leads to a significant misunderstanding on both of their parts. They set about to make things right with a little help from their friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost this is dedicated to my dearest B. Thank you so much for your constant support, enthusiasm and above all, your friendship. Thank you for taking me and my writing seriously even when I message you with questions like "what kind of pyjamas does Anathema wear?" This fic is better because of you. I love you (no romo!)
> 
> A couple of warnings before we begin. This first chapter includes internalised arophobia and a misunderstanding about being aromantic, and is pretty angsty. It does have a very fluffy ending and second chapter after education and communication happen but please take care and send me any questions here or over on tumblr @ineffable-anathema if you need to. 
> 
> This chapter also includes some misuse of alcohol to cope with emotional difficulties. This is not at all healthy, even for ineffable beings, and if you find yourself in a similar situation please seek help: https://alcoholics-anonymous.eu/aa-worldwide/ or https://www.smartrecoveryinternational.org/ourservices. 
> 
> The title comes from one of my favourite poems by Natalie Wee: <https://natalieweewrites.com/post/159435295729/i-kneel-into-a-dream-where>
> 
> Also if you don't know how to leave comments of fanfic, here's a handy guide: https://teatalesbeetails.tumblr.com/post/187525930095/toybeluga-legsdemandias-legsdemandias
> 
> Enjoy!

Pink. Glitter. _Hearts. _That was the sight that confronted Crowley as he entered the Morrisons_. _He was looking for a plant mister to keep in the bookshop. The number of plants he had… _donated_ to Aziraphale after their poor performance had grown to such a number that regular maintenance was required. Before today, he didn’t know Morrisons was the tenth circle of hell.

The pair had almost totally co-habitated but Crowley still kept his apartment. He needed somewhere, he said, where he could be without Aziraphale’s constant “love beams”. The angel thought that sounded quite sad. In reality Crowley used it mostly store spare clothes, hide presents from Aziraphale, and sulk. The larger plants which required a moist atmosphere also resided there. After all, he couldn’t risk mold damaging any of the angel’s books.

Here Crowley was, trying to be a considerate partner and a caring “plant parent” as Aziraphale had taken to calling him, and he was being punished. Tortured. People thought the Christmas creep was bad (and Crowley was _not _responsible for that one, thank you very much. As if he needed more false sincerity and artificial seasonal romance) but putting out Valentine’s Day stock in early January was beyond ridiculous in Crowley’s book. And a personal affront to him besides.

He barrelled on past the rows of chocolates and stuffed animals, nearly knocking over a group of old women comparing greeting cards as he went. They tutted at him but he took no notice as he finally reached the haven of the gardening aisle. This, at least, was still sacred. Or cursed. Or something. Green and brown and plain and _practical_. He sighed with relief.

Crowley double-checked the handle grip of the selected mister just as a shop assistant entered the aisle. Usually he didn’t pay much attention to humans around him - he was too busy working (slacking off), tempting people (hanging out with Aziraphale), or focused on important things (Aziraphale). In this instance, it was difficult to miss the giant stock trolley they were pushing in front of them.

Oh bugger.

Crowley only then noticed the section of empty shelves next to the usual gardening products that were about to be filled with… _that_. 

_Valentine’s-themed horticulture items. _Dear lord, some of them were covered in _puns.  
_

Terracotta pots scrawled with the phrase “let love bloom”. Statues and figurines of various animal couples kissing. Shirts covered in daft variations of “roses are red, violets are blue, these flowers are not half as pretty as you”. Sets of matching garden gloves dotted with hearts. Mugs asking if the reader wanted to see the wearer’s “green thumb”. What did that even _mean?_

Crowley watched on in horror as the assistant unloaded the wares. The hand which held the mister fell limply to his side. He stared for a minute before he realised what he was doing: positively slack-jawed at this random human who was only doing their minimum-wage job. They weren’t responsible for this monstrosity. Crowley shook his head to himself and backed away, turning when he got to the end of the aisle and running out of the shop. Only when he got back to the Bentley did he realise he still had the mister in his hand. He couldn’t think about that now.

Crowley sped off to the bookshop. He was already halfway there and he needed to vent to someone who wouldn’t look at him like he was… well. A hate-filled demon. He parked haphazardly, nearly but not quite running over a few pedestrians on his way. He barely slammed the car door shut as he strode into the shop, filled to the brim with frustration.

Aziraphale was in the front room in the midst of reading some ancient tome when Crowley entered. He looked up first in joy, then concern as he took in the sight of his spouse - jacket askew, red hair tangled, upset practically pouring out of him.

“Ah, hello, Crowley dear. Whatever seems to be the matter?” Aziraphale asked as he put the book aside, making to stand up and greet Crowley properly.

“The matter, Aziraphale? The _matter,” _Crowley spat out, so harshly that the angel fell back into his seat, “is that everyone is out of their _damned minds.” _Crowley began to pace wildly about the room, gesticulating for emphasis.

_“_I go into Morrisons expecting a regular, normal interaction. Instead I get absolute, absolute _bullshit! _It’s all ssssparkles and red and rosssses and _love_, bloody everywhere! Even in the gardening aisle! Is nothing _ssssssacred, _anymore? And apparently _I’m _the weird one for thinking there’s nothing romantic about a trowel! It’s fucking _everywhere, _angel, and it’s only January! How am I meant to possibly survive?” Crowley moaned as his rant came to an end and he stood and faced Aziraphale.

“Oh, ah, well. I suppose the humans are wanting to express their, ah, love for one another. It’s not exactly… tasteful, I admit, but it is rather lovely for everyone not to be quite so hateful, for a time, hmm?” Aziraphale suggested, a small smile on his face.

Crowley stared at him.

“No,” he whispered, then shook his head. “No, no, no.” He hastily replaced his sunglasses back onto his face, his hand shaking all the while. Crowley backed away from Aziraphale in shock before he ran out the door for the second time that morning.

Crowley couldn’t be sure if he was so distracted that he missed the trip home or if he miracled himself there. Either way, he returned to his flat in record time and uncomfortable silence - he couldn’t possibly listen to Queen at a time like this. He began to exit the car but caught site of the plant mister resting in the passenger seat, swing tag still attached. Crowley blinked at it, then took the stairs two at a time.

He came to in the middle of yelling at his devil’s ivy, throat hoarse and tears stinging his face. Just how long had he been standing there, he couldn’t say. Crowley pushed himself to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. His wings snapped into existence and curled around him protectively, blocking out the light and the rest of the room.

_Aziraphale.  
_

Crowley thought he understood. He thought he got it! But here he was, going along with this romantic nonsense as if it were in any way justifiable or, or right. And if it was right, then Crowley must be wrong.

He wanted to sleep, desperately. Crowley craved the silence and emptiness. However he couldn’t help the thoughts rolling around in his mind and he remained there, staring blankly at the feathers of his wings. He couldn’t hear anything - the traffic outside, his neighbours fighting loudly, the phone ringing again and again and again. Only the unending crash of thought after thought. Six thousand bloody years. Crowley thought he finally had a good thing. That he had finally caught a break.

What a joke. 

^^^

Fuck.

Aziraphale leaped up to stop Crowley from leaving but it was already too late. The demon had sprinted from the shop and pulled away from the curb before he could say anything else. Aziraphale was frozen in place. He watched the door as if Crowley would change his mind and reappear at any instant. As if that was going to happen. Oh, he was _such _a fool. He should know better by now - should know to choose his words more carefully when it came to Crowley and his… difference.

Aziraphale brought a hand up to rub at his mouth and caught a few tears with the side of his finger. What was he to do? When they entered their Understanding - well, relationship - he had asked Crowley if he would want to move in together. He agreed to but had retained his apartment. As much as he wished to follow him Aziraphale knew he couldn’t disrespect Crowley’s boundaries like that. It would make an already horrible situation even worse.

The phone! He had to try to get in contact with Crowley, at least, before he resulted to more drastic measures. Aziraphale hurried over to the table, dialed the number and waited. He hoped that Crowley would, for some reason, pick up and give him another chance.

_Click.  
_

“Crowley! I-”

“-You know what to do, do it with style.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale deflated. “Well. Crowley, I, I am so terribly sorry for what I said today. Oh, I _am _stupid, they were right after all. I royally fucked this up, as you would say, ha,” a small smile briefly crossed his face before it fell once more.

“Please, please give me the chance to make it up to you. Or, or at least to hear me out. I am so sorry, Crowley. Truly. I do hope that you’re alright. Please talk to me.”

Aziraphale held the receiver to his ear and listened to the silence, still hoping, before he hung up the phone. All he wanted to do was talk to Crowley and explain but he couldn’t. He felt incredibly stuck and helpless. He didn’t even want to eat. 

He supposed in times like this one must make a cup of tea and have a good think about things. Yes, some brainstorming may help him come up with a strategy to fix this. To make it right.

Aziraphale wandered into the back room where the kitchen resided and set the kettle on. He went through the motions he was so familiar with. Tea bag, water; milk, sugar. He went to return to his chair when his eye caught sight of Crowley’s mug. _Crowley_. Aziraphale had managed to momentarily distract himself but it all came back like a flood. He mechanically forced himself to sit down and placed his tea to the side. For the first time in three decades, it went cold.

^^^

After leaving several increasingly desperate voicemails in quick succession, Aziraphale thought it necessary to move onto something stronger than his untouched tea. He brought out a lovely vintage he had acquired from France on a trip he had taken with Crowley. _Crowley_. Aziraphale nearly overfilled his glass before he took a hearty sip. He closed his eyes in wistful pleasure.

His enjoyment was interrupted by someone pounding at the shop door. Honestly the nerve some people possessed. The sun had already set! Aziraphale didn’t even put the glass down as he waved a hand to flip the ‘open’ sign and close the blinds. Sometimes a miracle was necessary. He simply couldn’t be interrupted further.

The wine warmed Aziraphale from the very core and gave him a small boost of confidence to try Crowley’s phone again. Another beep, another voicemail. This caused him to drink more and his increasingly inebriated state only propelled him to leave more messages. Night fell, the bottle emptied, and Aziraphale’s fingers became too clumsy to dial the number any more. He wasn’t coordinated for any miracles, either, and he fell into a fitful doze. 

^^^

Grief settled into Crowley’s bones like the ocean calm after a storm. He didn’t feel anything, anymore. He was numb.

His wings disappeared from this plane of existence and he threw a hand out, unseeing, to fumble for his phone among the tangled sheets. It had been one day and one night of no sleep and no Aziraphale.

Crowley sat up and blinked at the darkness. Must be night, then. He groaned as his stiff muscles made themselves known and he halfheartedly stretched to rid himself of the pain. He soon gave up. The hurt reminded him that he was still here. He deserved it, after everything.

If he couldn’t sleep he wasn’t just going to sit there for the rest of his days. Crowley got up sluggishly and walked over to his closet. He selected another all-black outfit and snapped it on, not in the mood to deal with things by hand.

Crowley slunk out to the living room and went via the kitchen. He grabbed two bottles of scotch - no glass - and slumped onto the sofa. He uncapped the lid of the first bottle and took a long swig. He closed his eyes at the burn in his throat and when he opened them he noticed the bright light of the landline’s voicemail flashing a very high number. Crowley swallowed as he watched it blink. He took another deep drink and waved his hand, causing it to play the messages that had accumulated.

“_Message one,” _chirped the machine, far too cheery for the mood Crowley was in.

“Oh. Well. Crowley, I, I am so terribly sorry for what I said today. Oh, I _am _so stupid, they were right after all. I royally fucked this up, as you would say, ha-” Crowley blinked and the next message begun.

“Crowley, dear, please ring me back. I am truly sorry and I only wish to know that you’re alright-” Crowley took another generous swig and another message played.

“What can I do to make this right? What if I’ve lost you forever?” The rest of the voicemail was nothing but the sound of the angel crying.

Crowley stopped the message and drained the last of the bottle before he started the next one. Once finished, he lied down on the sofa and tipped his head up towards the ceiling. It was difficult to hear the angel’s voice. Aziraphale was so close but so far away. He obviously felt bad for what he said, but it didn’t reduce the pain Crowley was in.

He sighed to himself as the alcohol continued to take affect. Although he was lying still the ceiling began to spin and his vision blurred. Crowley closed his eyes against it. He flopped a hand out and the messages started up again.

They washed over him. Message after message of Aziraphale apologising, begging, bargaining. No matter the circumstance Crowley found Aziraphale’s voice soothing. Even though his words were filled with emotion they settled into a pleasant hum that subdued Crowley’s mind. The combination of alcohol, exhaustion, and emotion left Crowley completely rung out. Aziraphale’s steady murmurings drummed on in the background as he finally drifted off into sleep.

^^^

Crowley woke up somewhere around three in the morning, though he had no concept of the time. He was still more drunk than sober and certain mushy dreams led him to believe that it was vital and absolutely _genius_ to call Aziraphale, right at that moment. He fumbled with his phone’s touch-screen and its bright light caused him to hiss in pain.

When Crowley awoke a day and a half later in the midst of his hangover, he had no recollection of that call.

^^^

Sometime later Aziraphale woke with a start, twisting his neck something awful as he came to. There was a nasty shrill noise penetrating its way through his pounding head, which he soon realised was the telephone. He picked it up groggily. 

“H-hello?”

“‘ssssssssira_phale. _Misssssss you. Why can’ I be good ‘nough? Why?” Crowley whined, hiccuping mid-sentence. “S’over now. Should ‘cept that. Nobody’ll ‘cept me, though.” A thud, and the call disconnected.

Tears sprung to Aziraphale’s eyes and he let them fall, not at all concerned about them damaging his jacket. How could he worry about anything other than Crowley? His chest heaved with sobs and he had to sit up more to stop from choking. Eventually he was all cried out and he miracled himself a glass of water to take steady sips from. He washed away the remaining alcohol from his body and tried to collect himself.

Aziraphale cast his mind back to the few ideas that had flitted around his head before he became overwhelmed with want and wine. Visiting Crowley was out - he might not even be home. That didn’t bear thinking about, either. If he was out being reckless… Books wouldn’t help, certainly not any Aziraphale owned. He didn’t think any of them captured the particular situation they were in.

The only thing left to do was call in for reinforcements.

Aziraphale wasn’t on more than friendly acquaintance terms with very many humans. Shadwell was an employee, Adam a child, and the other players in Armagedd-non weren’t exactly bosom buddies. The only options he could consider were Madame Tracy, and Anathema. He considered both to be somewhat experts on human relationships, although of very different sorts. 

He was, admittedly, closer to Tracy. They were both (effectively) British and she was a woman of great life experience. She didn’t bat an eyelid when he explained their new relationship, and had actually assisted Aziraphale in recovering from the toxicity of Heaven. He glanced at the clock. It was far too early - or late - to be disturbing his friends, even if he was in quite the crisis.

Aziraphale sighed. He miracled his well-loved copy of_ Pride and Prejudice _and wiled away the time by reading.

By the time Aziraphale had finished the novel the morning light was streaming through the windows. He put the book aside, went to the telephone, and spun the dial.

“You’ve reached Madame Tracy, intimate services and supernatural connections at an affordable price,” announced a sultry voice.

“It’s Aziraphale, dear. How are you?”

“Oh, Mr. Fell!” Tracy returned to her normal inflection. “How lovely it is to hear your voice. I’m very well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Ah. That is another matter entirely. I was wondering if you were free for a spot of tea and a chat?”

“Ooh, let me check my diary,” there was shuffling at the other end of the line as she looked. “I can pencil you in at 11 o’clock if that suits. Your place or mine?”

The breath Aziraphale had been holding rushed out of him. “That would be _wonderful_. The bookshop shall do quite nicely, if you’re fine to get here.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then, Mr. Fell. Bye now.”

“Goodbye.”

^^^

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he did until Tracy arrived. The time seemed to pass like a fast-flowing river, and most of the morning came and went. Soon enough it was almost 11 o’clock.

A knock on the door came at five to. Tracy was always punctual, of course. It came with being self employed. Aziraphale hurried over to open the door[1].

“Mr. Fell!” exclaimed Tracy, her arms thrown wide in anticipation of a hug. He leaned into the gentle embrace and felt Tracy’s hand rub circles into his back.

“Please, do come in,” he stepped back and gestured to the open room.

She walked in and made her way to the sitting area, dodging around the haphazardly stacked piles of books which lined the aisles. Tracy reached the armchairs, Aziraphale close behind her, and sat down. She fanned her bright dress over her lap.

Aziraphale ducked into the kitchen and brought out the tea service. The teapot and cups rested on a antique silver tray along with a plate of delicate treats.

He fussed over preparing her a cup. Aziraphale slowly poured the tea in and added a splash of milk.

“One sugar, yes?” 

“Ooh, I think two today, actually.” He smiled and winked at her before he passed her the tea and made his own.

Once complete that sat in amicable silence as they waited for their tea to cool.

“How, how was the trip over, my dear? No incidents or anything?”

Tracy shot him a knowing look.

“While I appreciate the concern, Mr. Fell, I have a feeling that there is something on your mind.”

Aziraphale’s brave face fell.

“You’re, ah, quite right. It’s only….” He frowned to himself and looked away.

“Take your time, dear.”

He gave her a small thanks.

“I worry about being too… romantic, for Crowley. It’s just, well, we had an argument recently and I suspect that that is the underlying cause. I know it’s awful of me to say but I can’t _help_ it - I’m a being of love! It was about Valentine’s Day, too, and although I obviously do not agree with the commercialisation of such a day I was planning to do something for it. It would be our first Valentine’s together, officially, after all,” Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh, bother. I am silly, aren’t I?”

Tracy sipped her tea, then crossed one leg over the other.

“I don’t think you’re silly, Azira. All relationships take work, even if they’re not the most conventional. Work and communication, especially for sex,” she added.

He looked at her. “You think I should just talk to him, then? I mean, I have been trying to, but he refuses to pick up the phone!”

“That is a tricky one, hmm.” She thought for a moment. “Well if romance is out, have you tried some good old fashioned sex to keep your man happy?”

“He isn’t a man and, well, that is also a difficult issue.”

“Sorry. Your person, then. And why is it difficult for you two?”

Aziraphale wondered how to put it delicately. “Dear lady, most of my dalliances have had to be quite secret, historically. And although I have… enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh I fear I am rusty, as it were. My spouse…” he paused and cleared his throat. “I’m not too sure of Crowley’s experience but I don’t think he has any outside of work, at most.”

“Ah,” Tracy nodded knowingly. “I know what that’s like all too well. Some of my girls had the same problem when they found someone they liked. Didn’t know how to turn off their work brains in the moment and just enjoy it,” she shook her head to rid herself of the memories.

“Again I’d say you really need to talk about it. I couldn’t tell you the number of times I’ve been with a client - always the nervous ones, you know - who just go along with everything I say instead of contributing. It’s a shame, really. It’s meant to be enjoyable for everyone involved but they just lie there like a stunned mullet.”

Aziraphale chewed on a scone thoughtfully.

“Do you think I should seduce him, then? You know, candles, rose petals, the whole thing?”

“Well,” Tracy said, “I would say that maybe he would take that as maybe even more romantic. Making such a big deal of sex can put a lot of pressure on people. Pressure means stress and stress means no one is having fun. If you talk beforehand about your experience, and what you like or would be interested in trying together, it might work. I don’t know your Crowley very well - is he one for big gestures?"

Aziraphale thought to the millennia of dramatic glasses, hairstyles, and his someone-forsaken car. “In his own way, yes.”

She shrugged. “It really is up to you two to figure it out, but everyone wants to feel special, Azira. Especially at their most vulnerable. How you show that to Crowley is up to you.”

Tracy’s advice momentarily boosted Aziraphale’s confidence which was once again drowned by his anxiety.

“What if I’m bad at it? What if he doesn’t find me attractive at all, and he doesn’t know how to tell me? Oh dear. That’s probably it, isn’t it?” His frown deepened as he looked at himself. 

“I _am_ terribly soft and Crowley is, well, quite the opposite. And now that I’ve upset him immensely it’s no use even thinking about it because he probably doesn’t want to see me ever again! Oh dear, oh dear indeed.”

Tracy smoothly rose from her seat and sat next to the panicking Aziraphale on the sofa.

“Azira, love, focus on me, hmm? Can I hold your hand?” She waited until he nodded before she grabbed on firmly.

“Azira, I might not know you both very well, but from what you’ve said and what I’ve seen of Crowley, he does love you very much. And he loves you for being _you_, not someone else. Even when you are someone else, hmm?” she added. “What did he say when he saw you at the airfield?”

In the time Tracy had been talking Aziraphale had managed to get his breathing mostly under control. “Nice dress, suits you,” he recalled with a small smile.

Tracy squeezed his hand. “Exactly! You know what my mum used to say to me? Be yourself, everyone else is already taken. And I think you should focus on that instead of whatever else other people have made you think.”

Aziraphale sighed. It sounded good, but his worrisome thoughts lingered at the back of his mind. “You’re probably right.”

“Young man, I am _definitely_ right. Now,” she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, “would you like another cup of tea?”

“Oh. You’re my guest I couldn’t possibly-” he started to protest.

She cut him off immediately. “I’m also your friend, mind you. Have another biscuit,” she squeezed his hand again then reached for the teapot.

^^^ 

The discussion Aziraphale had with Tracy was certainly eye-opening, as it often was. It was comforting, too. She was so very nice to him. However, Aziraphale still wasn’t sure how to go about talking to Crowley about all they needed to discuss. Or getting Crowley to talk to him. He needed a second opinion. 

The other option of course was to ring Anathema. She was a wise young woman and although her life experience as a mortal lesbian witch was quite different to either Aziraphale’s or Crowley’s, he knew that if anyone could help, it would be her.

As Tracy and Aziraphale had spent the better part of the afternoon together it was now far too late to be phoning any humans up. He wasn’t going to intrude on Anathema’s Friday evening. Aziraphale set about some much needed shelving to keep himself occupied for the rest of the night, humming to himself some tune he had forgotten the name of.

^^^

Crowley slept fitfully on.

^^^

By the time 9am rolled around the next morning, the shop was the tidiest it had been in years. It was still in chaotic disarray of Aziraphale’s design, of course, but the floors were certainly clearer. And he had made a somewhat significant dent in his to-be-read list. He drew up the shop blinds but kept the sign firmly saying that they were closed. He couldn’t possibly deal with strangers at a time like this. Aziraphale dialed the number and held onto an unneeded breath.

“...Hello? Who is this?” Anathema’s voice was the sound of one who does not receive many phone calls, and did not appreciate one interrupting her morning.

Aziraphale frowned, hoping that he hadn’t fabricated the closeness of their relationship. “It’s, ah, Aziraphale here. I was wondering if you were able to assist me with something, as it were.”

“...Sure, Aziraphale. What is it?”

“Well. Crowley is, well, gone, I suppose.”

Anathema sat up, though of course Aziraphale couldn’t see that. “He’s gone? You would think Agnes would mention something this big-”

“No, no, my dear. Crowley is _gone _because I… hurt him. Most grievously. And I, I don’t know what to do about it!”

She stopped. “Aziraphale. You’re telling me that you rang me at nine o’clock in the morning because you had a lovers’ spat?”

He closed his eyes. This _really _wasn’t how he hoped this call would go. “Anathema. I know I can come across as quite ridiculous at times but I assure you I am awfully serious about this. Crowley is… everything to me. Your human mind cannot possibly comprehend even one millennia, let alone six, and I have known him for that long.”

There was silence as Anathema processed what he said.

“Alright. Let me put on some coffee and then you can walk me through it.”

^^^

Five minutes later Anathema was drinking from a large antique mug filled with black coffee. She had curled up under a blanket in the kitchen chair with the phone on speaker resting on the table.

“So, Aziraphale, what happened?”

Where to begin? “Well, I was in the shop as usual, um, reading a few days ago - must have been Tuesday - or was it Wednesday? No matter. Crowley came rushing in a, in a big rush and he started yelling - not at me, of course, but in general. And he said something about a shop having what I could only deduce was their Valentine’s Day stock out already and he was, well, he was quite upset about it. And then…”

“And then?” she prompted.

Aziraphale sighed. “I really put my foot in it. Oh, dear girl. Instead of accepting Crowley and supporting him in this obviously difficult time I said how _nice_ it was for the humans to be expressing their love like that.”

“Ah.”

“Quite.”

Silence fell again as Anathema sipped at her coffee.

“And you haven’t heard from him since?” she confirmed.

“Not at all! Well, I received a brief call at who knows when this morning but he seemed to be rather intoxicated. Other than that, not a peep.”

“Hmm,” Anathema hummed. “Well, Aziraphale, I admit this is a little out of my depth. Persephone knows I haven’t had a lot of fortune with my own relationships. However you have said that you’ve known each other for thousands of years, and I for one doubt that this one mistake is enough to end that.”

That certainly wasn’t a perspective Aziraphale had considered. Maybe he had been making a bigger deal out of it than it actually was?

“Oh! Ah, well, when you put it like that we have endured quite a number of tribulations and we’ve managed to weather those more or less together. I really don’t want a repeat of the nineteenth century - Crowley slept for most of it!”

“....Right.” Anathema blinked as her brain tried to wrap her head around that notion but not even a large cup of coffee was enough to assist her. She pushed on.

“Aziraphale - you’re the one who hurt Crowley, and it’s his decision to talk to you again if he wants to.” The _or not_ went unspoken. Aziraphale cleared his throat at the end of the line as he tried to suppress his tears.

“That’s the reality of it, anyway. I have a good feeling about this, though. You like reading, yes? How about I post you some information that might help. Some from my therapist and some from the Internet.”

That was far more generous than he had expected. “Oh, _thank you, _Anathema,” he gushed. “I know I’ve been more trouble than I’m worth. Enough about me - how is Tadfield treating you?"

“It’s alright. I’ve taken on Pepper as an apprentice, now, and have been talking to some folks in the town over about starting a coven. We’re all from pretty different practices which may cause some issues. Adam is fine, the other day he…”

They caught up for the better part of an hour and once they hung up Aziraphale’s outlook was much improved.

^^^

Aziraphale felt more hopeful after his phone call with Anathema. His heart felt lighter and he was able to relax some. Several hours afterwards of optimistic contemplation he developed an awful pounding in his head. He looked to the side table and realised he hadn’t consumed anything other than quite a lot of wine for far too long. Miracled food never tasted the same.

Aziraphale sighed to himself and brushed the wrinkles out of his coat. He had to go out.

Obviously he didn’t have Crowley around to drive him anywhere and today was not the day to endure the harshness of the public transportation system. He supposed the bakery around the corner would have to do.

Aziraphale got up and opened the front door, shocked at the weather outside. He had been so distracted that he didn’t notice the storm that had been raging on for some time now. He deflated a little. He really liked these shoes. Another throb of his head steeled his resolve and he grabbed the large umbrella from the stand and ventured forth.

The bakery two blocks down had opened in 1812 and was originally run by a brash Welshman with a large beard. The bread was divine - most of it was produced by two mistreated apprentices - but the aura of the place left Aziraphale with a sour taste in his mouth. One of his nephews[2], a delightful young man with a sweet tooth to rival the angel’s, happened to be out of work again. He was hardworking when needed though his flamboyance turned a few too many eyes and closed far too many doors.

After visiting the shop to pick up a crusty loaf and witnessing the baker’s awful treatment not only of his staff but his wife, Aziraphale had to step in. A few conveniently placed miracles later Theo had quickly risen through the ranks to become head baker. Decades later the bakery was the go-to spot for all manner of desserts, the recipes somehow preserved throughout their long history. Even when Theo passed away Mr. Fell’s preferences were well known and he was treated more like family than a customer.

Aziraphale hurried in the door and shook his coat free of some lingering raindrops.

“Mr. Fell! It’s been quite a while since we’ve seen you, hasn’t it?"

He smiled up at the shop assistant. “What a warm welcome to banish the cold. Hello, Lucy. How are your scholarly pursuits?”

The young person shrugged. “Ah they’re okay, Mr. Fell. I’m majoring in Philosophy now.”

“Oh how wonderful!” Aziraphale said that every time Lucy had changed his major, and he meant it every time. “You must come round and read some Kierkegaard that I have in the back, yes?”

Lucy gave him a goofy grin. “Sounds great. Now onto important matters - what would you like today?”

“Ah, yes. As you mentioned I haven’t been in for a while so I might have to double the usual order, hmm?” He skimmed the cabinets with his eyes to confirm that his favourites were there. “And a slice of the cake of the day, please.”

Lucy went about collecting the baked goods as Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the cake of the day. A small “oh” involuntary escaped his lips.

Devil’s food cake.

“Did you say something, Mr. Fell?”

“It’s nothing, dear.” Aziraphale’s eyes were obviously filled with tears but Lucy thought better than to mention it and packed up the order in silence.

“That’ll be thirty-two fifty, Mr. Fell. The cake’s on the house. Seems like you need it.”

“Oh. That’s, that’s incredibly kind of you.” He smiled at Lucy, then remembered to hand over the money. Aziraphale pocketed the change he was given and discreetly miracled it back into the tip jar.

He bid Lucy farewell and grabbed his umbrella, thankfully not needed it as the rain had stopped long enough to return home.

^^^

After consuming a few pastries Aziraphale felt much better. Still, he had to wait for the mail from Anathema to arrive. He spent the next two days pottering about and eating sweets, eventually demolishing the small pile he had purchased. The devil’s food cake left him a bit weepy but as no one were around to witness it, it probably didn’t matter much.

He managed to get some reading done in that time but overall felt quite restless. Not even another walk to the bakery helped.

^^^

Crowley woke up and vanished his hangover with a snap yet the feeling like something furry had went and died in his mouth remained. Eugh. He flopped a hand down to the coffee table and a glass of water appeared there with a straw. He drank it down, still reclining, and closed his eyes against the morning light.

This was pathetic, even for him. Crowley was a former, non-practicing demon and here he was distraught and weak and lonely. It just wouldn’t do.

He threw himself off the sofa and wobbled only slightly as he stood up properly for the first time in days. Crowley brushed down his clothes in a brisk manner and left the flat.

To add insult to injury the Bentley decided to only play the most loving of Queen’s greatest hits, starting with _You’re My Best Friend._

“For fuck’s sake! You’re against me, too? Honestly,” he scoffed in disgust.

Despite the protests Crowley didn’t turn the music off. It would be worse to be alone with his thoughts.

He motored down the street, barely paying any attention to the pedestrians he swerved out of the way to not hit. Crowley didn’t even leave with a set destination in mind but ended up haphazardly parked next to St. James’. He groaned and hit his head on the steering wheel with a thunk.

Ridiculous.

He was already out of the house, though, and it would be cowardly to return back just because of the memories the park held for him. Crowley sighed and reluctantly exited the car, miracling a bag of shredded lettuce into his hand as he went.

With his other hand he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a pair of sunglasses and roughly shoved them onto his face.

The sun had decided better of showing its face and returned to its usual location of hiding behind the clouds. Whatever time or day it was - Crowley could check his phone for the information, but refused to - barely anyone was in the park. There weren’t even that many secret agents. He wandered over to the pond and rested his arms on the fence. Not that an audience usually stopped him but the deserted nature of the place meant he felt more comfortable to think aloud[3].

The usual scavengers paddled over and eagerly waited for him to throw the lettuce down. He threw them a large handful and watched as they snapped the pieces up from the water’s surface. 

He sighed then began speaking as if he was already in the middle of a conversation.

“I don’t want to be rid of him, though. Where else am I going to find someone that, that _good? _And that likes me, more importantly? No one from work or y’know,” he gestured to the sky, “is comparable. I don’t know any other, uh, immortal beings that I could hang with.”

Crowley frowned. “But what he said… I didn’t expect that, that’s for sure. I get that it’s, that I’m, _unusual _but that doesn’t excuse it, does it? Hmm?” he asked the mallard that was watching him in hope. 

It didn’t reply with anything useful.

He sighed again, despondent, and threw more lettuce to the awaiting birds.

“I s’pose it was a one-off and maybe… maybe he didn’t mean it like that? Maybe he misssspoke? I guess I won’t know unless I talk to him. Should I talk to him, duck? He certainly wants to talk to me with the number of bloody voicemails he left,” Crowley grumbled.

An ominous roll of thunder filled the air.

He ran his free hand through his hair. “But I want to do it properly, y’know. We haven’t always been exactly, uh, spectacular at communication. I guess I just want him to understand why he,” _hurt me_. Crowley swallowed the words down.

“Why we’re here, now. I dunno how I would go about that, though. I certainly don’t know anything about it and neither does he, really. Doubt there’s anything in those musty books of his,” he muttered.

The ducks quacked up at him and Crowley tipped the bag upside down to empty it. He stared at the water, lost in thought.

“Book girl!” he shouted. “_She _might know something about this. Haven’t been to the countryside in a while, either. Worth a visit, anyhow. Clear my head. Stretch the scales. Bye ducks.”

The empty bag disappeared back into unexistence and Crowley made his way back to the car. He pulled out just as it began to pour with rain and the orchestral strains of _Somebody To Love _filled his ears. Both drowned out the remaining doubts which swirled in his head.

^^^

Aziraphale had just wandered back into the front room on Saturday morning when he heard the sound of the letter box.

He rushed over and there on the floor lay a large cream envelope from Anathema. He picked it up and made his way to the sitting area. As much as he wanted to rip it open right away, he was terribly hungry. He forced himself to make a fresh cup of tea and grab a plate and cake fork for his pastries. Once done he sat back down and savoured the treats at a much faster pace than usual. After a croissant and a lemon tart he began to feel better, and set the food aside to open the mail.

Inside was a bundle of papers clearly photocopied or printed, covered in handwritten notes and highlighting. A small letter addressed to Aziraphale was placed on top. 

_“Aziraphale - _

_I know many things but millennia-long relationships are somewhat outside of my field of expertise. However, I have spent enough time in therapy to know that a lot of problems come down to a lack of proper communication. Herein you may find some resources to assist you. _

_It sounds like you fucked up, but I wouldn’t give up hope. It’s obvious he adores you.  
_

_Blessings[4], _

_Anathema.”  
_

As Aziraphale pulled out the paper further he realised it was divided into two lots. He supposed he should start at the very beginning[5] and put aside the second part for the moment.

The very first page appeared to be a photocopied dictionary definition. 

_aromantic /eɪrə(ʊ)ˈmantɪk/ _

_adjective_

_adjective: **aromantic**_

_having no interest in or desire for romantic relationships.  
"I identify as an aromantic asexual"_

_noun_

_noun: **aromantic**; plural noun: **aromantics**_

_a person who has no interest in or desire for romantic relationships._

_"some people see aromantics as robotic and void of emotion"_

His brow furrowed as he read on. 

_...Where romantic people have an emotional need to be with another person in a romantic relationship, aromantics are often satisfied with friendships and other non-romantic relationships. What distinguishes romantic relationships from a non-romantic relationships can vary diversely, but often includes physical connection (holding hands, cuddling, etc.) and monogamous partnership. Aromantics can have needs for just as much empathetic support as romantics, but these needs can be fulfilled in a platonic way._

Aziraphale thought of Crowley and the night they got together. He said he loved Aziraphale, but wasn’t _in _love with him. That was what the test was about, too. Might Crowley might be one of these aromantics?

Aziraphale continued to read the information Anathema had sent to him. At some point he had acquired a pen and used it to take neat notes in the margins of the text. He wrote down observations he had of Crowley, random thoughts, ideas for the future. Once finished with the first set he put the papers aside and went to make another cup of tea. It was a lot to take in.

Aziraphale returned and chewed on a cupcake as he processed the information. He finished eating and drank his tea before he moved onto a delicate macaron. It was, quite literally, food for thought.

So this is what Crowley was, he surmised. Aziraphale did love learning new words. And, it seemed, that Crowley wasn’t alone. At least judging by the information he was given.

The papers also made Aziraphale realise how much they hadn’t talked about in their relationship. Maybe this all could have been avoided if Aziraphale knew properly how Crowley felt.

What’s done is done, Aziraphale thought to himself. He really had been so incredibly insensitive that day. Crowley wanted to vent about the - Aziraphale flipped to a page - amatonormativity of the world, and he dismissed him. He needed to apologise, and properly.

The second bundle seemed to be a collection of worksheets that would be used in therapy. Aziraphale flicked through and caught titles such as “Faulty Thinking: Cognitive Distortions,” “Unhelpful Thinking Styles,” and “The Five Key Ingredients of an Effective Apology”.

Night began to fall and Aziraphale remained there as he studied. He wanted to get this right. He _needed _to get it right.

The anxiety worksheets helped him realise why Crowley had such a reaction to Aziraphale’s comments. They also enlightened him to some of his own negative thought patterns, no doubt formed in his years working Above.[6]

Aziraphale reread the tips on proper apologies at least thrice over and drafted the beginnings of his own speech. He didn’t want it to sound rehearsed and he wasn’t planning on reciting anything to Crowley, but he knew having the plan would go a long way in assisting his confidence.

After a few more repetitions Aziraphale put the papers to one side and picked up the phone again. He would make his offer to Crowley and it was up to him whether or not he accepted it. That would be the end of the matter.

^^^

The traffic was awful but Crowley paid it no mind. He was too busy thinking about what he would say to Aziraphale when he saw him. His soft spot for the angel was a mile wide, and he didn’t want to give in just because the angel batted his baby blues at him.

Aziraphale wouldn’t manipulate him like that for something this important. Crowley knew that. Nevertheless, he avoided conflict like the plague. Crowley, on the other hand, ran straight toward it. He wanted to crash into it and let everything explode. He wanted to burn it all down so his ash covered tear-tracks seemed justified. He didn’t want that to happen, this time.

Just over ninety minutes later Crowley made it to Tadfield. He parked around the corner from Anathema’s place, not particularly wanting to be seen. Certainly not by that guy who thought himself major general of the neighbourhood watch. Ugh. Only now that he had arrived did Crowley have the idea to ring and see if Anathema was free.

He briefly glanced at the time, confirming that it was still a relatively reasonable hour of the day. All hours were reasonable for witches, weren’t they? Maybe she would be more amenable during the witching hour? Never-mind that. He selected her contact (which still resided under “book girl”) and put it on speaker.

“...Hello?”

“Hey, Anathema! How are you? Good? That’s great. Listen, I was just in the area and I was wondering if we could have a little chat about something I feel you probably have a better grip on than myself.”

“You want. A chat?”

“Yep,” he popped the plosive.

Anathema hummed to herself. “I feeI as if I may know what this is about. Well, if you’re just ‘in the area’ then I suppose you can come over. I didn’t predict any guests this evening so don’t, you know, expect much.”

“‘Course, no worries, be round soon.” He hung up before she could change her mind.

Crowley left the car and swaggered the short distance to her house, not at all caring about the rain pouring down and soaking him to the bone.

Anathema opened the door just as he was about to knock. She was dressed in a long, black-and-white striped silk robe over a set of deep emerald pyjamas and held a fluffy towel in one hand which she offered to Crowley.

He waved it away and suddenly became perfectly dry once more.

She blinked at him then threw the towel to the side. “...Right. Well, come in.” With that, she turned on her heel and ventured towards the kitchen. Crowley followed.

In the kitchen doorway, Crowley shoved his hands into his too-small trousers pockets self consciously. Anathema gestured for him to sit and he thanked her with a nod.

“Would you like tea or coffee, Crowley?” She held up a jar of each for emphasis.

“Oh, um. Coffee, thanks. Black, no anything.”

Anathema nodded and set about making him a cup. As she waited she asked, backed turned, “I assume this is about Aziraphale, yes? You live in London, Crowley. I know you weren’t just “in the area” on a Sunday afternoon.”

As much as Crowley wish to deny it, wish to refuse his bluff being called, he couldn’t. He was already imposing on this young woman who had endured so much, so he decided to be brave.

“Yeah, okay. We had… a fight,” he acquiesced.

Anathema set his mug down on the table and sat in the chair opposite. “Well. That’s perfectly natural between couples. A difference of opinion, I mean. You’ve had very different…. upbringings and you’re bound to clash sometime.” She blew on the hot beverage.

Crowley slumped in his chair. “We’re not a natural couple, though. Cause of the,” he waved a hand about in lieu of vocalising it.

“Because you’re aromantic?” she asked nonchalantly.

He nodded absentmindedly. “Yes, because I’m- what?”

Anathema looked at him over the top of her glasses as she repeated it again, slower. “You’re aromantic? Crowley, when you and Aziraphale first got together you said and I quote “we’re together but I’m not _in love _with him, obviously”.”

Crowley didn’t see how that was at all relevant.

“I assumed you didn’t like labels or thought I wouldn’t know what it meant.” Anathema continued, hesitant. “Do you...not? Know what it means, I mean.”

Crowley stared into his mug and shook his head, his shoulders somewhere around his ears.

Anathema softened at the obvious embrarassment and strode over to the bookshelf. She picked a fairly thick book that appeared quite new compared to her other tomes. The hardcover was plain teal with a golden inscription. The curly text on the spine read _The Gentlewitch’s Gay Grimoire_. Crowley caught a glimpse of it before Anathema opened the book and began searching.

She found the page she was looking for and placed the book in front of Crowley’s coffee on the table.

He read in silence, attention completely devoted to the passage. When he was finished he looked up and was surprised to see Anathema back in her seat. Crowley hadn’t noticed her sitting down.

His mind had short circuited. The definition was so accurate to his own experience, he didn’t even know such a thing was possible. And that it was obvious to people, people like Anathema at least. Although possibly well known that didn’t necessarily mean it was positive.

For lack of anything better to do, he sipped at his coffee. It loosened his throat which had become tight with fear.

“Is this a common phrase, then? It’s in a book, I mean,” he gestured at it in proof.

Anathema mulled the question over, wanting to put it as delicately as possible. “It’s certainly not rare by any means. And more and more people are finding themselves with thanks to the Internet. You know, finding labels that suit them, finding a community.”

Crowley nodded and looked back down to the mug. A thoughtful silence fell as he contemplated it all. Tears sprung to his eyes without his consent and he removed his glasses to wipe at them.

After a few minutes Anathema broke the quiet. “Is that what your fight was about, then?”

Crowley shrugged. “Um, in a way I s’pose it was. I had got back from shop where they had all their stuff out for Valentine’s - even in the gardening aisle! And I came home to rant to Aziraphale about it and he, he said…”

“Yes?” Anathema prompted.

“That it was _nice_ the humans were showing their _love_.”

“Ah.”

Crowley stared into his mug, which had gone cold. “Quite,” he replied drily and downed the drink in one go. 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise at the offer. He rubbed a hand over his mouth as he considered it.

“I know we haven’t exactly been close since it all happened, Crowley. But I’m not, well, overrun with social obligations. And Tadfield is lovely, it really is. But just because people are nice doesn’t necessarily mean they understand me. If anyone I’ve ever met could, I think it would be you,” she admitted. Crowley’s brow furrowed.

She continued on. “What I’m trying to say is that I think we could be friends. If we tried, if you wanted to. My therapist certainly thinks I need more friends than I have. Seeing as that number is currently… zero.”

“No one’s wanted to be my friend before,” Crowley blurted out before could stop himself. 

“Aziraphale-” 

“Aziraphale didn’t want to be my friend, not in the beginning anyway. It just sort of… happened.” Crowley gripped tighter to the coffee mug. “I think I would… like that.”[7]

They met each other’s gaze, smiled, then Crowley looked away. Maybe talking to someone other than himself or a flock of ducks would help.

“So, um, yeah. The whole thing. You’re a lesbian, right? So you probably have had people who you thought knew better than certain things.” Anathema nodded, knowing where Crowley was headed.

“When we started the relationship, the new and improved version anyway, Aziraphale was, y’know, adorably fussy, in his way, about me. Worried about, uh, what he could call me, things like that. Because I’m aromantic?” He checked to see if he was using the word correctly. “Yeah, because I’m aromantic,” Crowley stated more confidently.

“Which was nice. I mean it was shit, to actually _talk_ about things, _out loud_, although for the most part I wrote them down- but anyway. So we kind of, adjusted, I guess, without really communicating directly.” He sipped at the coffee which had been miraculously refilled.

“And things were great! They really were! But when I needed to vent about normal people-”

“Crowley,” Anathema interrupted and gestured to the book again. “At the bottom of the page?”

He read aloud, mumbling under his breath. “Alloromantic: someone who experiences romantic attraction.” At normal volume Crowley continued, “well that’s a silly word, isn’t it? And a right mouthful besides.”

Anathema held back from rolling her eyes. Just. “The point is you’re not abnormal, Crowley. You don’t see me going around calling non-magical folk normal, do you? They’re non-magical. In the same way alloromantic people are alloromantic. Romance doesn’t have to be and it isn’t the default state of existence.”

Now wasn’t that a punch to the gut? Someone thought he was _normal_. Despite literally every aspect of his outward projection, that was what Crowley wanted to be. He was cast out of Above, considered strange by his peers, and he knew Aziraphale thought of him as an equal, but still very different. The notion that he was fine the way he was, that he didn’t have to change to fit some standard he would never reach and that he could be appreciated for not in spite of his differences left Crowley feeling shaken.

“Sorry for interrupting. Please continue.”

“Right,” Crowley cleared his throat. “Um, where was I? Oh. So I went to vent and he ignored my point and it sucked and proved everything I feared was right. Anathema, their whole deal Upstairs is love, you know? When he first told me I thought that cause I didn’t reciprocate it in the same way I would lose him. And look where we are,” he added bitterly.

Anathema knew it was time to step in. What else were friends for? “Can I ask you to listen to me, completely, before you make assumptions about what I’m saying?”

Crowley slowly nodded, curious as to where she was going. “Okay.”

“You’re feelings are valid. You were vulnerable with someone you trust, and Aziraphale’s comments damaged that understanding you thought you shared. But Crowley, you’re also telling me this is what, one a handful of times he’s messed up in six thousand years? On top of that fact that you yourself admitted you hadn’t exactly talked about being aromantic.”

“So?”

“So, what I’m saying is that yes, Aziraphale hurt you and yes, you have a right to be upset about that,” Anathema patiently spelled out for him. “I _also_ believe that he would be deeply sorry about both of those things. And for a fact I know it, because he called me a few days ago.”

“He did? How, how is he?” Crowley asked, eagerly. She shot him a knowing look.

“He’s okay, Crowley. We’re talking about you right now, though. What are you going to do about it? Let one mistake ruin the lives you’ve built together? Or let him try and make amends, and make your relationship even stronger?”

He considered her questions in silence. He didn’t want to admit that she was right, but she had a point. Even if he was hurt, Crowley didn’t want to lose Aziraphale again.

“What do I do, then?”

She traced the grain of the table with one finger. “Well, if he reaches out again, accept him when he does. Take him up on the offer to meet or talk or what have you. The only way to have a relationship is to actually talk to one another.” Anathema paused her movements to look up at him. 

“I sent him some things so hopefully his head will be slightly out of his ass.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Fingers crossed.”

“More coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks,” Anathema took his mug and got up. The movement drew Crowley’s eye to the wall where several clocks resided.

“I’m not, um, keeping you from anything, am I?”

She shook her head. “Sleep is far less important than spending time with a friend.”

That was a lot of feeling for Crowley to handle. In avoiding Anathema’s gaze his eyes fell on a sad, wilted thing of a sage plant on the windowsill.

“What’s that, Anathema?”

“Hmm?” She asked as she sat back down. Crowley used a bony finger to point at the pot.

“Oh. Yes. Well, I needed the sage for a few spells and so to save myself the trouble I figured I would grow it myself. I am in the country, after all. I followed all the instructions exactly but I’m sure you can see the results.”

He scowled at her. “The thing’s bloody sun-burnt. It’s far too close to the glass and with the sun you’ve been having no wonder it’s in such a ssssorry sssssstate.” He pressed his lips together in shame at the hissing.

Anathema turned back to face him, and gave him a calculating look.

“I think this promises to be a rewarding relationship.”

Crowley grinned.

^^^

Crowley drove back from Anathema’s feeling lighter than he had all week. He didn’t like to admit when he was wrong but she certainly had pointed out a few missteps in his logic.

He didn’t _want_ to hope but it seemed undeniable. Since the nopocalypse it was hard to feel like anything was truly impossible. They stopped Armageddon, for someone’s sake. Maybe he and Aziraphale still had a future together. 

^^^

Crowley returned to his flat intent on catching up on his much missed sleep. The blinking light of his voicemail stopped him once again.

This time, only one message waited for him.

He stood in front of the machine and pressed play.

“Crowley. I wish to apologise to you for hurting you, but I understand if you do not want to see me. I won’t leave you any more phonemails or, or contact your again. Please visit me at your convenience or otherwise, well. All the best, dear one.” 

Crowley couldn’t help but smile to himself. Despite everything, he really did miss the angel. It had been an awful to be without him for so long. Crowley’s sleep deprived, post-hangover state left much to be desired in terms of communicating what he felt to Aziraphale, so he decided sleep was the best course of action. A full ten hours and then he would see him. 

^^^

The sun streamed in through a slit in the curtains and for once Crowley didn’t awake hissing at the new day. Although it had been little over a week since he had last seen the angel it felt like, well, an eternity. The separation had made Crowley realise just how much time he spent with Aziraphale, or thinking about him, or driving to and from the bookshop. Maybe he should get a hobby. He would have to ask Anathema about it at some point.

Crowley pushed himself out of bed and over to his closet. He needed something he would feel confident in. Black skinny jeans - a given, really - with short leather boots. He pushed the hangers around and discovered a wonderfully soft jumper that he had forgotten about. Crowley pulled it over his head and stood in the mirror. It’s oversized fit and structured cowl neck worked well with his trousers and shoes, and he would grab his coat on the way out the door.

He examined his reflection in the mirror, turning his head this way and that. Something was missing. Crowley combed through the items on his vanity before he found what he was looking for. Two coats and he was perfect. He thought the dark purple shade complemented his outfit quite wonderfully. 

Crowley put on his sunglasses as he sauntered through the living room and out the door. He didn’t stop for so much as a cup of coffee - his entire focus was on seeing Aziraphale.

The ride over passed in a blur and it seemed to take no time at all to arrive at the bookshop. It looked the same as ever but was radiating what could only be described as an aura of hopelessness, something Crowley was all too familiar with. He shuddered. 

The bravery that he had built up over the morning fled him. Could he do it? See Aziraphale again, after he had said those things? Was he strong enough to not just completely collapse under the vulnerability of it all?

He swallowed and rest his head against the steering wheel, his cheek against the smooth leather.

Sitting there wouldn’t change anything. Crowley knew that. Going home and sleeping the years away would leave him right where he was.

Without Aziraphale.

At least if he did this, he knew where they stood.

Crowley opened the door. 

^^^

Aziraphale stood by the window as he fussed with the plants. He no longer knew whether to think of them as Crowley’s or not. None of his books had anything to do with modern horticulture and he was concerned about the indeterminate length of time he would be responsible for them. What if they got sick? Or _died?_ He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Instead of looking it up on the internet as anyone in this day and age would do, he resorted to doing what he did best - being kind. Aziraphale tried to sustain the plants with praise and they hungrily soaked it up. He had witnessed Crowley take care of the plants only a few times and although he didn’t _completely_ agree with his methods, he couldn’t deny the results. Aziraphale was just about to move on to pet the large Swiss cheese plant when the bell above the door jingled. He startled in shock - it was Crowley.

Crowley stood in the doorway totally still yet gave off the energy of someone who was constantly fidgeting.

They stared at one another. Aziraphale was the first to break.

“Would you, ah, like to come in, swee- ahem, Crowley?” he asked, hesitant.

Crowley nodded and closed the door behind him gently. He paused a moment as he faced away from Aziraphale, patted the wood with his hand, then turned and removed his sunglasses.

Crowley walked to the sitting area. He sunk down to sit on one of the plush armchairs but remained perching on the edge of it. Aziraphale followed in suit and sat in the chair opposite.

Aziraphale squirmed in the silence. “Tea?”

Crowley opened his mouth to snark but though better of it last minute. He nodded again. “Please,” he responded quietly.

Aziraphale lept up and disappeared into the kitchen to gather up a new tea service. As soon as he was out of sight Crowley slipped back in the chair and ran a hand down his face. He sighed. He had been a literal witness to torture yet this whole interaction was somehow more painful.

In the kitchen, Aziraphale attempted to get his shaking hands under control. He used a miracle to boil the kettle, not wanting to give Crowley a chance to escape before he said his peace. In his head he practiced what he wanted to say over and over again to try and build up some confidence. He wasn’t very successful.

As soon as Crowley heard Aziraphale begin to return he sat up again. He didn’t want to show how he felt, though he wasn’t sure how successful of a job he was doing. Crowley perched on the edge of chair with his hands on his spread thighs, then crossed in front of him, then clasped in his lap. His hands remained there just as Aziraphale rounded the corner. At least it minimised the shaking.

Aziraphale prepared Crowley a cup of tea in silence, the only sounds the clink of crockery and splash of the accompaniments as he added them just to his liking. He offered him the cup and saucer.

Crowley bit his lip to stop the tears from escaping. He accepted the tea and looked down, not sure that he could handle Aziraphale’s sweet face at the moment.

They both looked anywhere except at one another and sipped their tea. Crowley privately thought that this is how he would die. In the throes of pure British politeness, so awkward you could cut the air with a flaming bloody sword.

He swallowed another sip. It truly was perfect; the angel knew him so well. That brought him back, of course, to the reason why they were there in the first place.

“How… have you been?” Crowley ventured, more to occupy the space between them with something else other than tension than anything else.

Aziraphale glanced at him, then looked away. How had he _been? _Crowley couldn’t possibly be told the true answer to that.

“Oh. Ah, fine, thank you. And, um, yourself?”

Crowley placed his cup down with a clink. “Fine.” He licked his lips. Now that they weren’t sitting in utter silence, he thought he should keep the ball rolling. 

“Look, ang- _Aziraphale,_” he corrected himself, “let’s just. Y’know. Do the, the thing. That you mentioned.” Crowley waved his arms about to try and convey the message.

“Ah. Of course.” Aziraphale set his tea down on the coffee table and wrung his hands in his lap.

Crowley could feel the angel’s gaze on him and looked up to meet it. They were both quite misty eyed, though neither mentioned it.

“Crowley. I am… utterly sorry for what I said to you. It was dismissive and not at all like the good partner I am trying to be. I didn’t listen to you at all, just talked over you like some, some _foolish _creature,” Aziraphale paused to collect himself. “Sorry. That was not my intention and that is not at _all _like I wish to behave. I am so sorry for all the hurt I have caused you.”

The tears Crowley had managed to hold back until now spilled down his face. Oh, angel. He swallowed down the sobs that wanted to leap from his throat.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in shock at Crowley’s evident emotion, but continued on. He had to finish this.

“In future, I promise to always try to listen to you without inserting myself into the discussion, and to not be such an interjecting fusspot when you need to vent or talk about your… aromanticism,” Aziraphale hesitated at the last word, unsure as to how Crowley would react. The demon’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“I will not give my commentary if you do not ask for it. And I’ve found this, well, delightful group that meets once a month for, ah, a-spectrum people and their partners that I look forward to attending - if you wish me to, of course,” Aziraphale finished, and allowed a small smile to cross his face in hope that Crowley would accept his apology.

All the thoughts that had been swirling around Crowley’s head got pushed to the side at Aziraphale’s offer. “You’d do that? For me?” he asked, shock clear in his voice.

“Crowley… I’d do _anything _for you. I love you so completely. Anything at all that reminds you of that I will do, you have my word.” Aziraphale nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Aziraphale loved him. Crowley knew that. After a week of separation however the large part of his brain which liked to contest that fact had taken over like a noxious weed. Aziraphale loved him. It was everywhere.

Crowley blinked, which caused more tears to fall. “Oh. Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “okay.”

Aziraphale nodded firmly. “Good, good.” He picked up his tea again and drunk it, though it had lost a lot of its heat. “Does that mean…” he looked back to Crowley, hopeful, then scolded himself. “No, no. I shan’t push.”

Crowley could read Aziraphale’s mind quite clearly.

“I forgive you, angel,” Crowley said. He meant it.

“You do? Oh, you do! Thank you, dearest I,” a sob interrupted him, “I missed you terribly. Being parted from you like that is not something I wish to repeat.”

“I missed you, Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated in a small voice. “You did hurt me. It’s still hard to admit that, y’know, a demon - or well, former demon - anyway! That I have feelings and am sensssssitive.” He frowned to himself as he wondered where he was going with this.

“Oh! Yes, right. Because, angel, you’re the only person on this, this rock that actually acceptssssss me and,” Crowley licked his lips, “loves me. And why it all happened like that, that day is, uh, I thought, y’know, you were different. Because I trust you. So hearing the things you said, just _dismissing_ me like that… sucked. ‘Cause being… aromantic isn’t something even many humans accept, let alone beings of love and…” Crowley huffed out a breath. “I didn’t want to lose you again.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale looked at him softly, and offered him a hand. Crowley took it. “I love _you _dear, for all that you are. It is, of course, a concept that is new to me and I’m not _entirely _educated, but I will endeavour to do my very best to be accepting and understanding as you deserve.”

Crowley just managed to put his teacup down safely before he launched himself at the angel. Aziraphale caught him, glad to have his favourite lapful back in his rightful place.

Crowley tightened his arms around him and brought his face close. For the first time in eight days he relaxed, nowhere else in the world he would rather be.

“I love you, angel.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “I love you, dearheart.”

* * *

[1] Although they were quite good friends, Tracy wouldn’t simply enter Aziraphale’s home without permission. She had a firm focus on consent and knew about the distrust he had because of his disrespecting coworkers.

[2] Aziraphale lived in SoHo on purpose. Throughout his years there, he adopted many younger people, particularly gay men, as he gave off such uncle energy.

[3] Talk to the ducks.

[4] The witchy kind.

[5] A very good place to start.

[6] Aziraphale still didn’t like bad mouthing his coworkers. He didn’t like bad mouthing anyone. Crowley especially, as well as his other companions, had gone a long ways in helping him break these negative thoughts. Many unfortunately still remained. 

[7] He wasn’t lying. Crowley loved the angel, so completely, with all his heart. But he worried. Aziraphale had his books, various acquaintances, Tracy, food, all his other bits and bobs of hobbies. Crowley had his car, his plants, and Aziraphale. He worried about being… needy. Overly dependent and attached. And of course, the dreaded _clingy.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the epilogue/chapter 2 is originally the entirety of what I planned for the fic... and then I wrote twelve thousand words to lead up to it. 
> 
> Any terms that weren't defined I thought were easily explained by the top google result, but lmk if you have other questions. 
> 
> Comments are my favourite, and I would love it if you left one! @ineffable-anathema on tumblr as always  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
SOURCES:  
Anathema's pyjamas were inspired by Olivia von Halle which I found after googling several iterations of "rich people sleepwear". They're super pricey y'all: https://oliviavonhalle.com/collections/pyjamas
> 
> Crowley's outfit is directly inspired by this wonderful art: https://ineffable-anathema.tumblr.com/post/187413691770/panrao-crowley-d-i-feel-crowley-would-rock and Givenchy lipstick in the colour N327
> 
> The information Anathema sends Aziraphale and shares with Crowley was taken from these and the google definition of aromantic:  
https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/relations/what-is-aromantic-and-what-does-it-mean-for-relationships/  
https://medium.com/postmodern-woman/im-aromantic-390eb52a8f8c  
https://www.asexuality.org/en/topic/73661-aromantics-in-romantic-relationships/  
https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/adaptation/201805/the-five-key-ingredients-effective-apology  
https://www.aifc.com.au/repairing-trust-violations-with-a-heartfelt-apology/  
http://connfitzgibboncounselling.ie/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/CBT-Dundrum.jpg https://positivepsychology.com/wp-content/uploads/cognitive-distortions-infographic.png


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although now on the same page a certain date looms ever closer, threatening the pair's newfound stability. Aziraphale has a surprising solution - a trip to the South Downs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would post this before the end of the year and I am, thus I am winning a competition that doesn't actually exist. Thank you to everyone who posted comments in the meantime, on this or any of my other fics. They really do help me with motivation and inspiration, especially as I just finished NaNoWriMo (and yet, still worked on this and so many other fics at the same time. Why am I like this?)
> 
> QPR reminder: The relationship depicted here in this fic is representative of my experience as an aromantic person. If you're allo or have experienced romantic attraction before and read this as 'romantic', please keep it to yourself. It really is an honest reflection of how much aromantic people are capable of loving others, as well as how affectionate and committed we can be. None of those things are inherent to romance despite what society tells us. That being said I am just one aro person writing from their perspective. If your experience is different, that is valid and wonderful. This is a very feels driven chapter so if you're romance-averse you might want to skip it or ask questions for clarification, which I am more than happy to answer. 
> 
> CW: There is fade-to-black sex in the fic as well as some mentions of sexual attraction throughout. Crowley is grey ace and Aziraphale is allosexual. If you want to skip the sexier stuff, stop reading once they stop dancing in the street and pick up at "Aziraphale began to pack as Crowley showered." There is also kissing throughout the fic. 
> 
> I really did almost title this chapter "Crowley losing his V-card on V-day" but that's ridiculous even for me and we all know virginity is fake. That being said if you _were_ after something sexier along those lines, check out Fine Dining by iamshame. It's my favourite ineffable first time fic. 
> 
> This chapter is basically all fluff, once we get over the minor angst at the beginning. Enjoy!

Aziraphale was sad that it had taken that dreadful misunderstanding for this new level of honesty to begin, but he supposed it was necessary. In the time since he had continued his research as to Crowley’s identity, which mostly consisted of lurking on various online forums. Aziraphale had also managed to attend one of the “a-mazing a-spectrum” meetings at the local LGBTQ+ centre. He had invited Crowley to go along but he said he hadn’t felt ready, which was perfectly understandable. 

He had mostly listened during the meeting, taking a proverbial back seat. Funnily enough, the topic of the day was “Dealing With Normativity” in the wake of February fourteenth. It had been… enlightening, to say the least. So many people with such a variety of experiences. It comforted him, to know that they weren’t alone in this, but it also sparked an endless number of questions. Aziraphale did his best to ramp down the urge to ask them all at once. He knew that would just overwhelm Crowley. 

The weight that had been lifted off of Crowley now that he knew he was aromantic was immense. It explained so much and Aziraphale now understood him better, too. The pressure of the world, though, remained - particularly whenever they ventured out of their comfortable bubble. 

Crowley liked to hold hands and humans liked to make assumptions. At the start he was flattered, that people thought he was deserving of someone like Aziraphale. That they were _ together_, on purpose and intentionally, not just work colleagues, or even “close friends”. The novelty soon worn off and Crowley grew increasingly tetchy. 

Particularly as things became pinker and more heart-shaped in the world, Crowley retreated further into himself and their home. This wasn’t necessarily a problem as the flat above the bookshop was miraculously large and spacious. And, after six thousand years, Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t at all sick of each other. The fact that the demon had refused to leave the building for three days, however, had put them both on edge. Aziraphale grew more and more concerned by the hour as Crowley seemed to develop a case of ‘cabin fever'. 

He paced from room to room, yelled at his plants, stared out the window, checked that Aziraphale was still in and subsequently pestered him with questions, then repeated the whole sequence again. Aziraphale was a being of love and did his best to patient but it was getting a little much, even for him. 

After his fifth attempt to suggest that they might _ possibly _ go out for dinner instead of ordering in again was shut down, he broke. 

“Crowley, I cannot _ do _ this, anymore! I love you and I would sincerely appreciate an explanation for why we have been stuck here for the past three days!” he exclaimed. “You won’t even let me go to the _ bakery, _and that’s only down the road. Please, tell me whatever is the matter with you,” Aziraphale said through tears. 

Crowley sank into the chair he had been walking past and stared. He’d been a bit of an idiot. They were meant to be doing the whole new honesty-and-communication thing and he had been effectively holding his partner hostage for seventy two hours. 

He threw himself down on the floor in front of Aziraphale. 

“Oh, angel, I am _ so _sorry, please don’t cry, fuck,” he clung onto the cream trousers in desperation. 

“Everyone has just _ looked _ at us so much lately, and I love being with you and being out with you, but it’s a certain time of year and, well. They keep making asssumptions, don’t they? And I’m so sick of it, Aziraphale, and I thought, stupidly, that we could just hide here until it was over. I should’ve told you, I should’ve _ asked _you. I’m sorry.” 

Aziraphale sniffled a little as he stopped crying and he gave Crowley an incredibly soft look.

“Well, my dear, I’m not going to lie and say I’m not upset because I think that’s obvious,” he said. “I _ do _ accept your apology and I wish you had told me that you were hurting so. This is a partnership, and we need to work through our problems together.” 

“Yeah,” muttered Crowley. 

“That wasn’t meant to be a criticism of you, darling. Just simply thoughts for the future,” he corrected, then glanced at the clock. “Oh! It has gotten quite late, hasn’t it? What do you say to a little sleep and we try again in the morning, yes? I think there’s the last bit of cake I could have while you get ready for bed…” 

Crowley kissed his palm sweetly. “Sounds good, angel. Thank you.” 

Crowley rose to stand and retreat to the bathroom but Aziraphale pulled him back. He kissed Crowley’s hand and embraced him. “I do love you. Very much.” He released his partner and watched him walk away. 

Aziraphale had a quick tea in the kitchen and ate the remainder of the scrumptious raspberry cheesecake they had bought a few days ago. He grabbed his tablet (it always had a full battery, miraculously) and followed Crowley up to the bedroom. 

By the time he climbed the stairs Crowley was already tucked into his side of the bed, head stuck out above the covers. It made Aziraphale’s heart ache, sometimes, with just how _ small _he could look. Despite being a demon, despite him being physically taller, and despite them being thousands of years old he could appear incredibly young. 

Aziraphale put the tablet down on the nightstand and undressed. Now that he had started spending the nights with Crowley in an actual bed, he loved the feel of the sheets against his skin. His pyjamas were still used for lounging about their home but in the evenings cuddled with Crowley he only wore pants. 

They hadn’t had sex, yet. Crowley said he needed to get used to all the other kinds of touch they could share, all the thousand other ways they could be intimate. Aziraphale was secretly relieved. As much as he loved initiating he didn’t feel ready either. 

That didn’t mean the desire wasn’t there. When both had more of a physical craving, when longing looks melted into languid touches that quickly became urgent. Aziraphale felt that now. Crowley’s gaze on his back like heat ray as put his clothes away. When he turned back Crowley’s cheek were flushed pink, his lip drawn between his sharpened teeth. The anticipation was a pleasure in itself. 

Aziraphale climbed into bed, pale blue briefs stretched across his peach shaped bottom. Crowley hesitated in reaching out, still embarrassed from his behaviour earlier that day. 

“None of that, sweetheart. You’re more than forgiven. Come here?” Aziraphale asked, arms outstretched. 

Crowley slithered over and tucked himself against his partner. He sighed with relief as Aziraphale’s arms came around to hug him. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his red curls. “Sleep well, my dear.” 

Crowley smiled into his chest and his breathing soon evened out as he fell asleep. Aziraphale watched on, as entranced always. It was a privilege to be trusted with Crowley’s unconscious form, to be present as he slipped into slumber. 

Once he was sure Crowley was in deep sleep, Aziraphale wiggled out of his grip just enough to grab his tablet. 

He couldn’t change the structure of society. He couldn’t change the widespread beliefs and values that so many people shared. He couldn’t stop shops from selling products that only made Crowley feel like he was wrong. But he could take him away from all that, if only for a little while. 

Aziraphale had some research to do. 

^^^

Crowley woke up in his favourite place in the whole world: Aziraphale’s arms. At some point during the night they had shifted so now he was the ‘little spoon’. He could feel the heat of Aziraphale’s bare chest through his thin shirt and his steady breath on the back of his neck. Who needed heaven when they could have this? 

Crowley slowly opened his eyes. He felt so much better than yesterday. Although he was now in the habit of regular sleep it had gotten increasingly fitful over the past week. Now, though, he actually felt rested. 

“Mornin’, angel,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. 

Aziraphale’s lips quirked into a grin against Crowley’s nape. “Good morning.” 

“Mmm, someone sounds eager. Wanna go out for breakfast?” 

“Oh!” Aziraphale gave a pleased wiggle. “That would be lovely, my dear. What about the place-“ 

“Around the corner?” Crowley turned around to face him. “The one with garden and the pancakes-“

“With the lemon curd! Exactly what I was thinking.”

“Kiss?” Crowley asked, still sleepy enough to shake off his usual hangups about vulnerability. Aziraphale softened and brushed their lips together. Crowley went to deepen the kiss but the rumbling of Aziraphale’s interrupted them. 

“Oh, ah, I’m terribly sorry, Crowley. I-” 

“‘S’okay, angel. Time for that later. Pancakes?” 

Aziraphale blushed and smiled. “Pancakes,” he agreed. 

^^^

They eventually got dressed. Crowley kept interrupting Aziraphale as he wanted to look and touch all the angelic skin on display. It was a still a novelty that he was _ allowed _to do so and Aziraphale loved to indulge him. 

Despite the frosty weather they walked instead of driving. The cafe was just around the block and the chill in the air wasn’t even registered as they shared warmth through their joined hands. Soon they arrived and were pleased to discover that the cafe was mostly empty. Neither was much in the mood for company outside of the other. 

Crowley removed his own coat then took Aziraphale’s. The angel was charmed by the gesture and only stopped him to remove his tablet from a deep pocket. 

“Why’ve you brought that, Aziraphale?” 

“Oh, ah, I was talking to Anathema about starting one of those web-blogs reviewing local dining establishments.”

Crowley frowned in confusion. “...Okay then. C’mon, let’s sit.” 

They made their way to a corner booth, far from the draft blowing in from the doorway. A member of the waitstaff followed them and brought menus and water for the table. 

“Good morning. Can I get you any drinks to start?” 

“I’ll have a pot of tea, please. Dear, do you want one of your sugary concoctions?” Aziraphale asked Crowley.

“Iced caramel mocha,” he replied without looking up. 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you,” Crowley repeated at a lower volume. 

Even though they dined there fairly regularly Aziraphale studied the menu intently in case something different caught his eye. Or at least, that’s what Crowley thought he was doing. In truth, Aziraphale was nervous about the holiday he had booked for them. They had traveled together throughout history in a sense, but it had all been for… work. 

Their drinks were brought to them and Crowley immediately drained a third of his large glass. Aziraphale ordered food and the staff member retreated again. 

As they talked over drinks - Aziraphale explaining his latest acquisition for the bookshop, Crowley updating him about the various happenings in Tadfield - Crowley gradually slipped around the booth to press against Aziraphale’s side. 

Aziraphale was quite aware of what the demon was doing. “Hello, dear,” he said once they were flush shoulder to knee.

The food arrived in the middle of Crowley ranting about Anathema’s abysmal gardening skills. 

Aziraphale tucked in as Crowley continued. Lemon curd and blueberries, absolutely delicious. It tasted like sunshine in his mouth and sat next to his warm spouse he was a very happy angel indeed. 

He offered the fork to Crowley. “Try some of this.” 

Crowley closed his mouth around the food and swallowed. “‘s good.” 

Aziraphale smiled at him, pleased. “I know you hate when your food gets cold, love," he prompted.

Crowley nodded and practically demolished his omelette as Aziraphale savoured his meal. When the demon was done and he was halfway, Aziraphale brought out his tablet. 

Crowley looked up from where he was tying his straw into knots. 

“Angel, you know I don’t like telling you what to do, but don’t you think you should have taken a photo of your food _ before _you started to eat it?”

“Ah, well, yes. I have to admit however that I have caught you in a bit of a, a ruse, as it were.” 

“A ruse,” Crowley repeated flatly. 

Aziraphale made a few swipes on the screen. “You don’t have any concrete plans for the next few days, do you Crowley?” he asked innocently. 

Crowley frowned and flicked the straw away. “Well, not as such, angel. What’s all this about?”

Aziraphale put the device down next to his plate to look at Crowley properly and to grab his hand. 

“I know you have been having a difficult time lately, with the season and the humans. We both love London but it all feels a little… harsh, this time of year. And there’s only so much I can do, of course. I thought we could get away for a little while.” 

“What?” 

“I’ve rented us a cottage in the South Downs!” Aziraphale announced. 

“Have you now?” he asked, dubious.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, my dear, I am quite capable you know. Yes, see, I used this internet site - doesn’t it look charming?” 

“Quite,” Crowley said dryly. 

“There are some lovely restaurants in the village, farm-to-table sorts of things, but none of the horrendous retail establishments we’ve had to deal with. And it _ is _ so lovely and picturesque. I think it would be good for us, to spend more time together.” 

“Angel. Don't we spend everyday together?” 

Aziraphale waved him off. “Still. Without the distractions.” 

_ Without the distractions. _Crowley tried to swallow his panic at what that meant. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the waitstaff. He waited until the dirty dishes were taken away to speak. 

“Good heavens, Crowley! Not like that. Well, that’s not what _ I _was thinking of, certainly,” he cleared his throat with a pointed look. “Anyway, check in is this afternoon at two o’clock, if that’s alright?” 

“Sure thing. Sounds… nice.” Crowley aimed for for snarky but ended up landing on very sincere. 

Aziraphale nodded. “Good, that’s settled then. Help me finish my pancakes.”

^^^

They returned to the flat after bickering over the bill. Money was a fuzzier concept to ethereal beings but it was the principle of the thing. Or least, that’s what Aziraphale said. 

Aziraphale eagerly climbed the stairs as Crowley lingered behind. Days with no one but his angel lay ahead of him. No big city distractions to obscure his feelings. It was guaranteed to be intimate. Vulnerable. He hesitated in the doorway when he got to the second floor.

Aziraphale flitted about like an enthusiastic moth. From the urgency of his actions you would think they were going away for a year, not a few days. Crowley loved him so much - even his fussy, ancient ways in which he was so set. He had been so brave for so long. Crowley could only do the same. 

“Oh, my dear, I think I _ have _worked myself into quite a state. I’m just, well, so excited,” he beamed up at his spouse. “I know I’m foolish. Do forgive me.” Aziraphale paused with his hands among a large pile of clothes.

Crowley crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed Aziraphale’s face between his hands. 

“Angel,” he began. “No. No,” he shook his head as Aziraphale seemed to shrink before his very eyes. “You are not _ foolish, _ you are wonderful and _ damn _ anyone who says otherwise. I _ love _how excited you are. I am just, just,” he closed his eyes, still hidden behind his glasses. In a small voice he continued, “I am ssscared that… if we’re alone you’ll get, well…” 

“Yes?” 

“Sssick of me,” he muttered in response. 

“Oh, _ Crowley._” 

“I know, angel.” 

Aziraphale brought a hand up to stroke his snake tattoo. “What a pair we make, hmm?”

At that Crowley opened his eyes. “If we can’t believe it for ourselves, maybe we shall have to believe it for one another.”

Crowley nodded. “Alright, angel,” he pressed a kiss against his cheek. Aziraphale took the chance to draw him in for a hug. Crowley sighed as if he were put out by the action, but they both knew he needed much more affection than he had gotten. 

Aziraphale released him with a small smile. “Now be honest, do you think five bow-ties is too many?” 

A twitch in his lips revealed the joke. 

Crowley could only throw his head back and laugh. 

“Yes, definitely, too many. Bring all of them, I don’t care.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes went misty. “You’re far too good to me, my dear.” 

“Only as much as you deserve, angel,” with that Crowley flopped down into the bedside chair. “But seriously, can’t we miracle all this? Packing is,” he sighed, “such a trial.” 

“For one, you haven’t packed anything yet. And you miracle most of your outfits anyway, don’t think I don’t know, Crowley,” he finished folding something cream coloured and placed it in the open suitcase. Then he put his hands on his hips. “But I suppose you’re right.” He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. The remaining items of clothing flew and folded themselves into the case. 

Aziraphale walked around the bed to face Crowley down where his head hung over the armrest. He plucked the glasses from his face to reveal those beautiful yellow eyes. Crowley looked up at him and nearly cried. His head blocked out the ceiling light just so that it gave him a literal halo. Someone, he was beautiful. 

Aziraphale just looked at him and smiled. 

“Shall we go?” 

^^^

A few hours later they had arrived at their destination. Their drive was as tumultuous as ever, though Aziraphale had learned to relax some. He now knew Crowley didn’t do it to intentionally antagonise him but that he truly did enjoy traveling at those speeds. Aziraphale did his best to distract himself by observing the changing scenery out the window. Crowley promised to stop whenever he needed to, which on this particular trip was only once. 

The Bentley pulled up at a large, double-fronted Tudor-style cottage. It sat proud in the middle of the lush property. The pale, rendered walls contrasted with the dark front gables and round timber frames. The ground floor exterior was a light brown brick and the windows came with delightful flower boxes. Aziraphale couldn’t see that far but it he knew behind it lay a large back garden filled with blooms. All in all, it was _ beautiful_. The [ online photos ](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/property/2019/05/03/TELEMMGLPICT000195252157_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqqVzuuqpFlyLIwiB6NTmJwRMWbYwzrg_3PLcMwCu9G8U.jpeg?imwidth=450) simply didn’t do it justice. 

Although Crowley was seeing it for the first time after a once-over he turned to watch Aziraphale. He had spent centuries watching the angel react to all manner of things and it never got old. 

Once he took in his fill Aziraphale turned to Crowley and blushed when he realised when he had been watched. 

“Shall we go in, dear?”

Crowley nodded and stepped out of the car. He grabbed Aziraphale’s suitcases from the boot as the angel unlocked the door. By the time he entered Aziraphale was tearing over the welcome note left by the owners. 

“Oh, _ Crowley,” _ Aziraphale gushed at him from the entryway. “Would you _ look _at this. Oh, the owners have left us a note, and it’s handwritten, too, with the most delightful gift basket.” 

Crowley carefully let the suitcases drop and walked over. “Wishing you both the loveliest time and we sincerely hope you feel at home. Love, Gertie and Violet,” Aziraphale read, then clutched the letter to his chest like a blushing heroine. 

“Gertie,” Crowley mouthed to himself as he focused on the wrong thing entirely. He swaggered over to the basket in question and started to pick at the grapes. He shrugged in acquiescence. 

Crowley popped one final grape in his mouth, bit down on it with a satisfying 'pop', and collected the suitcases again. “I’ll put these away, then.” 

Aziraphale shook himself out of his frozen state where he had been staring at Crowley. “My dear, just leave them. I simply have to show you the rest of the cottage!” 

At the use of the word “cottage” to describe what was, in fact, a fairly large and beautiful house, Crowley snorted. He dropped the luggage, though, and dutifully followed Aziraphale. 

Crowley didn’t really care about the cornices or the marble counters or the carpet. A building was a building. It was nicer than Hell, sure, but that wasn’t hard. That was the only thing he really noticed. He cared that his angel was happy. Aziraphale was his home. 

He was distracted from his borderline-mushy thoughts by Aziraphale throwing open the French doors to the backyard. Crowley swallowed around the lump in his throat. Maybe he did care, after all. 

The large glass doors peeled away to reveal a spacious deck and beyond it, an enormous English garden. There was minimal lawn and the whole place was alive with the buzz of insects. It obviously had been well planned as, despite it still being winter, there was plenty of colour from both flowers and leaves. He could spot a few rose bushes, too, and his hands itched to inspect them. Crowley could hardly see the back fence it was so expansive. From the sound of it there seemed to be a pond hidden among the plants, somewhere. 

Something uncoiled in Crowley and he did his best to fight back tears. He hadn’t realised how much he missed this. A garden. The garden. He wanted to go snake and bask in it all but he knew he would lose track of time if he let himself. 

He turned to Aziraphale to comment, a little surprised to find him enraptured with Crowley’s visage. 

“Do you like it, my dear?” Aziraphale asked softly. Crowley’s eyes flicked back to what lay before them, then back to the angel. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

^^^

The tour ended finally with their bedroom. It was a little much for Crowley - four poster bed and all - but he was too tired to fuss. It was hard enough that he had to deal with all the feelings that resided in him, let alone be reminded of them constantly by the love and care put into the interior design. 

He flopped down, face first, onto the bed with a sigh. It was very comfy and he gave an Aziraphale-like wriggle in pleasure. 

Aziraphale continued on speaking as he unpacked. After a few moments Crowley flipped over to settle in for the long haul. 

Despite his indulgent nature, Aziraphale had rarely been on anything he could classify as a holiday. Sure, he had soaked up the food, wine, and local culture on his various assignments but the constant sense of surveillance always lingered at the back of his mind. He never knew where or when he would be confronted, checked in on, or sent on his way. 

Staying in Soho was a luxury Aziraphale was grateful for but he never truly settled. He worried, constantly, that he would be sent away from his home, away from Crowley. But now they were here. And now they were safe. Aziraphale could unpack. 

Crowley’s eyes drifted closed as the angel began to discuss their dinner plans. Ideas of bread rolls and wine selections floated through his ears as the world fell away. 

“Mm, sounds good, angel,” Crowley murmured as he fell asleep. 

^^^

The smell of something woke Crowley up and he curiously lifted his head to stick out his tongue. Food, of some kind. Savoury. He opened his eyes to investigate further. 

Aziraphale had clearly left and gone - his coat hung over the chair by the bed and a fresh dab of cologne lingered in the room. Now properly awake Crowley could faintly hear him in some other part of the house downstairs. 

As he wandered back downstairs Crowley noticed that it was now dark outside. Must’ve been asleep for a bit then, he supposed. 

He moved into the kitchen and spotted Aziraphale fussing with bags of takeaway and some plates. 

“Have a good sleep, dear?” he asked, beaming at Crowley as always. 

Crowley hummed and moved closer, enough so that he pressed against Aziraphale. Although only a few hours asleep, Crowley had missed him. 

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him and cuddled him close. Tension that had been held by both of them disappeared. 

“I thought we might like a quiet night in, hmm? Especially after all that traveling.” 

“‘Course, angel. Sounds perfect,” Crowley replied as he released Aziraphale to allow him to plate up dinner. As he did so he narrated the journey of finding the restaurant and the delightful staff and the tasteful decor and how charming the town was. Crowley popped himself up onto the counter and swung his legs as he listened. 

Once the food was perfect Aziraphale led them to the living room. They squished together on the sofa. Aziraphale delicately balanced the plate in his lap, napkin tucked into his collar, while Crowley clung on to him and ate one handed. Between bites they talked, like they had done countless times over the centuries. 

Their finished plates were then put aside and the pair cuddled closer. Crowley used one hand to flick on the television and began to browse the various film channels available, head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale petted his hair as they sat in comfortable silence. 

Despite the cozy circumstances Crowley became increasingly agitated as he scrolled. He tensed up where he lay on Aziraphale and started stabbing the remote buttons. The angel gently put his hand on top Crowley’s who then immediately stopped, threw the remote aside, and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. 

Aziraphale discreetly muted the television with a free hand. “I know, love,” Crowley tensed even more at the endearment. He didn’t need to be reminded anymore of this. “I am sorry, my dear, that was foolish of me, wasn’t it?” 

Crowley flopped over, now fully in Aziraphale’s lap, to look up at him. 

“Why is it _ everywhere?” _he whined, referring to the horrid selection of Valentine’s Day themed movie marathons available on the TV. 

Aziraphale knew that was a question Crowley didn’t really want an answer to. 

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t have to be here,” a thoughtful look cross his face, he snapped his fingers and then beside him appeared a bag. 

“I have DVDs!” Aziraphale announced proudly. 

“Who even uses DVDs anymore, angel?” Crowley teased, a small smile now on his face. Aziraphale returned it, beaming down at Crowley in that angelic way of his, quite pleased he had distracted him for the moment. 

Aziraphale removed his hand from Crowley’s hair and briefly rifled through the bag. He let out a small “ah ha!” when he found what he was looking for. 

“Shouldn’t you be grateful, Crowley?” he asked, joking nature clear in his voice. “Why don’t you pour the wine while I do this, yes?”

The disc case he had been holding was plucked from his hand by nimble fingers. 

“You pour the wine, I’ll fix it,” Crowley said as he sat up again. He looked at Aziraphale like he was contemplating something then pressed a brief kiss to his forehead. Aziraphale watched him walk away to the TV unit, a faint blush on his cheeks. 

By the time the movie had started playing Crowley had settled down and happily lay over Aziraphale once more. They had both seen _ The Wizard of Oz _ dozens of times and had no qualms about talking over the entire thing. It was a perfect night in. 

They reached the halfway point in which Aziraphale instituted an interval (“_Who _would think to get rid of such a delightful thing, Crowley?”) and got up to retrieve the desserts. 

Crowley never had much of a sweet tooth - certainly not one to rival Aziraphale’s - and was already tipsy and warm and happy. Aziraphale sat back down with the plate on his lap. He unpaused the movie and went to start eating. 

“Here, let me,” Crowley murmured. He picked up one of the petit fours and raised it to Aziraphale’s lips. The angel cocked an eyebrow but opened his mouth to accept the sweet. He kissed Crowley’s fingers where they got caught in his mouth. Or maybe he sucked on them lightly, Crowley couldn’t tell. He was immediately distracted by molten heat running through his body. 

Aziraphale’s eyes had returned to the screen and Crowley swallowed tightly around his now parched throat but continued his actions. He didn’t want the angel to suspect that anything was wrong but he hadn’t ever felt like this before. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He felt something almost akin to an ache settle into his belly. All he wanted to do was touch Aziraphale but they were already sandwiched together in the middle of the large sofa. It was like he wanted to climb into him, to be one. The soft, wet tongue against his fingers made Crowley feel like he was about to explode and oh, those heavenly, plush lips. 

Crowley did his best to make it through the remainder of the movie and not stare of Aziraphale too much. Luckily he quickly finished dessert so all that was left for Crowley to do was down the rest of his wine, hug the angel and try to breathe. 

The alcohol truly hit Crowley as the final scene unfolded and he drifted into a light doze. Aziraphale turned off the television and lifted him off to bed, leaving the clean up for the morning.

Crowley didn’t remember them when he woke, but he had the most peculiar dreams. 

^^^

Aziraphale woke up in his favourite place in the whole world - next to Crowley. Sleep was one of those delightful human things he hadn’t let himself try until they stopped Armageddon. It was indulgent and luxurious, yes - two things he loved. But now he could admit that he was simply too anxious to ever entertain the notion of being unconscious for any length of time. 

He confessed it to Crowley, one night, when he was caught out. They had gone to bed and Crowley expected to fall asleep before the angel. For once sleep was elusive and after a restless half hour he realised Aziraphale was still awake. Crowley confronted him about it and it all came pouring out of him. That night Aziraphale stayed up again. The next day, they started Aziraphale on a series of naps, increasing in time over the next two weeks. 

He was able to sleep for most of the night, now, and enjoy it too. 

Aziraphale drank up the view of his sleeping spouse. Crowley’s face was squished into the pillow, his long hair a bright flame against the pale sheets. His mouth was open and he drooled slightly. Goodness, Aziraphale loved him. 

Crowley woke up slowly as he always did. He shuffled closer to Aziraphale, instinctively seeking out his warmth. Aziraphale cuddled him closer, utterly thankful that this was his life. 

“Mmm,” Crowley said, eyelashes fluttering against Aziraphale’s neck. 

“Good morning, dear,” Aziraphale said. “I have a delightful cafe staked out for breakfast, whenever you’re ready.” 

“Mmhm,” he hummed again. 

Aziraphale didn’t have the patience of a saint but he had the patience of himself, and he waited the near twenty minutes it took Crowley to rouse completely. 

When he did wake up Crowley rolled over to lie on top of Aziraphale, face pressed to his neck still. He released a deep sigh and then pushed himself up on his hands, either side of Aziraphale’s chest. Crowley’s hair fell down in a curtain and he blushed - whether from sleep or the position, Aziraphale wasn’t certain. 

“Morning, angel,” Crowley murmured, looking an absolute vision. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but beam up at him. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he replied. Crowley gave a soft smile and bent down for a brief kiss. He then rolled off the angel and out of bed in order to get dressed. Aziraphale watched him saunter away before he realised he should really follow suit. 

Aziraphale may be unobservant sometimes but he knew Crowley. They had become more comfortable in their relationship, certainly, and both had become more openly affectionate. But there was now a… heat, behind the look in Crowley’s eyes, sometimes. An intention, a charge there. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure if Crowley was exactly aware of it, or if he even would want to do anything about it, but it was there all the same. They hadn’t really broached the “to be determined” left on the sheet of paper some weeks ago. Aziraphale would simply have to wait and see. 

They got dressed in a mostly timely matter, only distracted a few times for hugs and kisses.

The pair left the cottage holding hands, then wandered down the lane and onto the main street. Aziraphale led Crowley to the cafe he had described. 

After a positively scrumptious breakfast Aziraphale convinced Crowley to come and explore with him. Crowley wasn’t actually as reluctant as he put on but he didn’t want to seem too keen with… everything. 

They managed to get partway down the street with Aziraphale narrating their journey all the while before the angel started talking to people. And then he just didn’t seem to stop. 

Crowley didn’t mind all that much when it made Aziraphale so visibly happy. That smile absolutely melted his cold, demon heart. Everyone was so nice and friendly, too, which usually would put Crowley completely off. But they were genuinely nice humans, who weren’t _ overly _ accepting or _ excessively _supportive of the pair in a tokenistic way. Crowley hadn’t gone into this holiday expecting that there would be so many LGBTQ+ humans in such a small town.

He still didn’t particularly want to talk to strangers, though, and stood back fiddling with his phone. Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind. By the time they got to the sixth person in forty minutes though, Crowley had had enough. 

He politely but impatiently waited for Aziraphale to finish the conversation and pulled him down a small alleyway. Aziraphale looked up at him, concerned, as Crowley tried to gather the words. 

He paced up and down as much as the small space allowed before he stood completely still. 

“A_ngel. _ I… _ appreciate _how much of a good time you’re having, but I thought this holiday was for us to spend time together. And we can’t be alone if you’re talking to every Tom, Dick and Harry you bump into,” he said, frustration visible across his features. 

Aziraphale had the decency to look a little chastised. “You’re right, of course. I’m terribly sorry, dear. You know how fascinating I find humans - though that’s no excuse for it, of course. I’m sorry for not paying you the attention I promised, Crowley,” he offered sincerely. 

“I forgive you,” Crowley murmured, still looking put out. 

“Would you like a hug?” 

Crowley didn’t verbally answer, just pressed himself against the angel. Aziraphale felt some of the tension ease out of him. 

“How about we go for a drive? I was planning to stay in town today but I think it shall be just the ticket.” 

A shy smile crossed Crowley’s face. “‘Course, angel. Wherever you want to go.” 

^^^

Aziraphale had learned a long time ago to never give Crowley directions. For one, he went too fast to even communicate efficiently where and when he should make a turn. By the time Aziraphale told him to they had already long past it, which frustrated both of them to no end. They also focused on completely different things and Aziraphale more often than not got distracted by landmarks or things he was reminded of. That was if he wasn’t closing his eyes against the high speeds. 

Thus Aziraphale plugged their destination into the GPS that had miraculously installed itself on the dashboard and let Crowley “do his thing”, as it were. 

Despite having little idea of where they were going, Crowley relaxed as soon as he was in the Bentley’s leather interior. It was blessedly familiar. Aziraphale had fiddled enough with the GPS that he couldn’t view their final destination but Crowley didn’t really mind. They were finally alone together. 

Aziraphale loved Crowley so much but still his driving left much to be desired. Luckily they were in the countryside so there was less risk of colliding with others. He did his best to breathe through it and observe the wonderful changing landscape that flew by. 

It took less than two hours for them to get there and the time passed in comfortable silence. 

As Crowley made the final turn, with the destination being on his right according to the GPS. He couldn’t help but let out a “wha…?” of surprise as it came into view. They had pulled up to a garden. 

Crowley was particularly surprised because it didn’t seem at all the sort that Aziraphale usually preferred. He could be a bit of a fusspot sometimes, especially about his clothes. He liked the outdoors, sure, but usually visited them for historical reasons, or for the people. This seemed rugged and natural and wild. Exactly to Crowley’s taste. 

Aziraphale had been quietly enjoying Crowley’s reaction. After he had taken it all in, as much as he could see from the car, the Bentley turned itself off and he looked to Aziraphale. Crowley was surprised that he had been watched. They simply smiled at each other then exited the vehicle. 

As they wandered towards the main path Crowley took Aziraphale’s arm. He had an intense need to be close to him. 

Crowley was unlikely to say it aloud but the garden was _ beautiful_. Well-worn paths led them down among maples of every colour. There were low hedgerows everywhere, some in full bloom, others lush and green. Further still was a trickling stream framed by weeping willows dancing gently in the breeze. The stream fed into a larger lake, on which lily-pads floated. On the other side was a sprawling green field dotted with purple blooms. They leaned on the railing of the small bridge to take it all in. 

They moseyed around in periods of silence mixed in with Crowley offering some quiet commentary. Most of the time he took in the plants in silence. It had the affect Aziraphale had intended it to and he seemed so much more relaxed. 

Aziraphale, meanwhile, continued to watch Crowley as much as he could. The garden was beautiful but, well. Aziraphale had always preferred Crowley’s corporation. 

Down another path, Crowley began to point out the plant name behind Aziraphale’s shoulder and caught him staring. They both blushed. 

Crowley was so lovely. Aziraphale was so very lucky to spend everyday with him. Not everyone had that luxury and Aziraphale desperately wanted to show him off. As they went deeper into the garden they became surrounded by blooms of all sorts of colours. Aziraphale simply had to try to capture this. 

One handed, he fumbled with his phone to open the camera. The movement jostled their linked arms slightly and Crowley turned in surprise, then narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale. 

“Please, my dear?” 

Crowley huffed, more for show than anything else.

“Oh, alright then,” he grumbled. Aziraphale managed to get a dozen or so poses out of him before he looked too uncomfortable to continue. 

The afternoon waned on and the pair grew more tired. Crowley spotted the in-garden cafe and dragged Aziraphale over to it. They shared a frankly delicious devonshire tea. Crowley did his best to ignore the clotted cream that caught on Aziraphale’s upper lip and how much he wanted to lick it off. Preposterous. 

They had seen all of the garden by then so all that was left to do was retrace their steps. When they got back to the Bentley Crowley got the door for Aziraphale, desperate to show how thankful he was. Before Aziraphale got in he turned and cupped Crowley’s cheek. 

“Thank you, my dear,” he murmured. He swiped a thumb over Crowley’s blush then sat down. 

As they pulled away Freddie Mercury’s voice filled the car. Aziraphale could barely hear the small “thank you” Crowley offered him over the music, but hear it he did. 

“No need to thank me, Crowley. That’s what partners are for.” 

He placed a hand comfortingly on Crowley’s thigh. Or at least, he aimed for comfort. Instead, Crowley tensed up and Aziraphale immediately removed it. He supposed it was too romantic for him after the day they had. 

In actual fact Crowley was all too aware of how close that hand was to certain parts of him. Parts of him that had, more often than not, been quite blank. That was up until a few days ago. He let out a sigh of relief when Aziraphale moved his hand away and focused back on driving. 

^^^

The pair spent the next few days in a similar matter. Aziraphale finally got around to actually visiting all of the delightful little shops he intended to on the first day when he had become distracted by socialising. It gave Crowley plenty of opportunities to spoil the angel, which he enjoyed immensely. They sampled a good deal of the local food and fashion and spent many of their days wandering about with no particular destination, just talking. By the seaside, down the main street, amid the blooms in their garden, or curled up in bed - they were happy to be with each other. So much so that the fourteenth was suddenly upon them, although neither particularly noticed. 

Aziraphale had booked their table ahead of time, for once. He figured that the restaurant he wanted to go to may be overrun and he needed to give strict instructions not to mention the date. He wasn’t sure if Crowley _ was _ aware but _ he _ wasn’t going to bring it up. Crowley had a bad habit of making far too many assumptions and rushing head-first into panic. 

Thus their dinner wasn’t any more special than it usually was, except for the fact that all time shared between the two celestial beings after the averted apocalypse was in itself singular and exceptional. 

The candle had been removed from the table ahead of time and there were no flowers to speak of. Crowley liked flowers, of course, but he was so very particular and Aziraphale didn’t want to risk it. Especially if they turned out to be false. That could ruin a whole night of conversation. 

Crowley had surprised Aziraphale by bringing out a bottle of wine from who knows where just as they were about to leave. Aziraphale certainly hadn't seen it in his suitcases. It was the same kind as the one they had shared back in Tuscany two centuries ago. Crowley held it by the neck in his free hand and had his other tucked into Aziraphale’s as they walked to the restaurant. It was a beautifully clear night and Aziraphale was a lucky angel indeed to have such a beautiful person on his arm. 

As soon they had been seated and the member of the waitstaff had left they picked up the conversation and didn’t stop until they left the restaurant. Crowley poured the wine once it had adequate time to breathe - he was so very sweet, sometimes, and Aziraphale smiled at him gratefully. 

As always, Aziraphale took his time studying the menu. He had looked it up online beforehand, of course, but there were a number of seasonal specials. Crowley was much more decisive and after a few moments put his own menu down to stare at Aziraphale.

The angel had brought out an outfit Crowley hadn’t seen in years. It was still in his usual colours and still had far too much tartan for Crowley’s liking, but it was wonderful. A double-breasted jacket in a dark tan with a pale shirt. Slimmer fitted trousers than usual - only by a hair, but Crowley noticed all the same. Same shoes, same bow-tie. He was gorgeous. 

They had gotten changed separately - Crowley commandeered the bathroom to work on his hair and Aziraphale was relegated to the bedroom. He had chosen to dress up for the evening too, funnily enough, and stepped out in a long, flowing black jumpsuit. Aziraphale had immediately burst into tears, the big softy, and Crowley rushed over to console him. He assured Crowley that he was just so, wonderfully happy that he couldn’t keep it in. Crowley thought Aziraphale had never looked better. It was like joy was beaming out of him and Crowley had never been prouder to be on his arm. 

Aziraphale eventually decided what he wanted and Crowley summoned a waiter over with a lazy wave. They took the order and disappeared once more. Aziraphale offered a hand, palm up, over the tablecloth. Crowley took it and blushed slightly. 

“You do look gorgeous, my dear, I hope you don’t mind me saying,” Aziraphale said before he sipped the wine. 

Crowley blushed further under his makeup. “Not at all,” he murmured, trying to get a hold of himself. The room felt so warm, even in his sleeveless outfit. “And you, angel, are…” he momentarily was tongue-tied. “Beautiful,” he settled on. “Just. Beautiful.” 

The angel squeezed his hand. “Thank you.” 

Their loving gazes were interrupted by the arrival of the entree. 

The pair tucked in. The food was, as Aziraphale declared, scrumptious. Wine and conversation flowed easily as it had done for the past six thousand years. 

Crowley was more affectionate that evening than usual and Aziraphale didn’t mind one bit. While they lingered over dessert - well, Aziraphale had dessert, Crowley had coffee - he gained a contemplative look on his face. Aziraphale tapped his wrist to get his attention and quirked one eyebrow in a silent question. 

Crowley gave him a searching look, licked his lips, and seemed to nod to himself. 

“Kiss me, would you, angel?” he blurted out. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. 

Aziraphale was surprised and Crowley went to take it back, cover it up, stick it in the back of a drawer never to be looked at again when Aziraphale again tapped his wrist. He came back to the table and realised Aziraphale had put his spoon down. 

“I would be honoured, darling,” Aziraphale murmured. 

The table was small enough that it was comfortable for him to raise one hand to cup Crowley’s blushing face. He moved slowly, carefully - both to ensure that the meal wasn’t disrupted and so Crowley had plenty of time to back out. He looked nervous but determined, and met Aziraphale with an uptilted chin. 

It was nothing more than a bare brush of their lips, at first. They had kissed before. Crowley said he liked how it felt, sometimes. But the way he had asked for it meant Aziraphale felt like it was something more, maybe. Something special. And he was determined not to fuck it up. 

Crowley made a soft sound like a sigh and pressed closer. Their lips were overlapping, now. The taste of coffee and chocolate intermingled together. Aziraphale held himself carefully back from overwhelming his partner. Crowley seemed content with the slightly damp pressure between them. 

Internally though Crowley felt like fireworks were going off inside him. Almighty Someone, this was like nothing he had experienced before. It was amazing, to be this close to Aziraphale. He mostly liked his sugar in liquid form but if he could eat dessert from the angel’s lips forever he would. 

Only a few centimetres more and they would be _ inside _each other. What a terrifying, amazing, miraculous thought. 

After what Crowley assumed was a few minutes he pulled back, blushing furiously. He hid his face behind his cup as Aziraphale squeezed his hand then returned to his dessert. He acted like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened whereas Crowley suddenly had the daft desire to yell from a rooftop. What _ was _happening to him!?

They were soon finished and Aziraphale got the bill. He said something ridiculous about being a gentleman, which Crowley could only laugh at. The angel was barely clinging to the concept of male on a good day and Crowley knew all too well that Aziraphale wasn’t a _ gentleman _at all. Not in that sense, at least. Money wasn’t really a thing to either of them so Crowley let him if it made him feel better. 

They left the restaurant as they had arrived, arm in arm. Crowley tipped his head up as he relished the cold evening air. When he opened his eyes again he couldn’t help but notice all of the stars in the sky. He sighed wistfully. 

He turned to Aziraphale and those sparkling eyes met his own. Like his own private galaxy, right here on earth. 

They turned down the lane and sweet song drifted towards them. The pair got close enough to hear the melody though they couldn’t quite make out the words. 

Aziraphale stopped walking in the middle of the street, which Crowley only noticed when his arm was tugged back. 

Crowley looked at him curiously, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head to see better in the dark of the road. In a bold move, Aziraphale grabbed both of Crowley’s hands in his own. 

“May I have this dance, Crowley?” he said. 

Crowley looked down at their hands. He never believed he would have this. 

He moved closer to Aziraphale instead of speaking,and their hands fell naturally into a dance hold. As much as the angel liked to moan the loss of the gavotte he was a decent enough dancer. He couldn’t have lived in Soho without picking up even the basics - for end-of-war celebrations and New Year’s and weddings. Crowley let him lead despite their height difference. 

It was little more than a slow sway but it was also everything. Crowley shut his eyes and for once, let himself bask in the affection. In Aziraphale’s love and warm embrace. Crowley loved him more than anything else in all of existence and he finally felt that that was enough, no matter what anyone else said. 

The song faded out and left them in the sweet silence of the night. They stilled, wrapped around each other, and Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Really looked at him. 

And like so many times in his long life, Crowley decided to be brave enough for the both of them. 

He leaned down and forward and caught Aziraphale’s lips in a kiss. It was only a few moments before Crowley increased the pressure. He drew Aziraphale’s bottom lip between his own and sucked. Aziraphale made a delicious noise which Crowley desperately needed to hear again so he repeated the action. The angel’s jacket buttons were now pressed into the thin fabric of Crowley’s jumpsuit, they were so close together. It was _ glorious. _

Crowley didn’t really know what he was doing but neither cared much at all. Aziraphale took over slightly as he began to move his lips. Whatever it was that he was doing, Crowley thought it absolutely delightful. And he couldn’t stop making these greedy, needy noises. Usually he was so in control of his corporeal form but that had gone out the window. He felt that he was _ sweating,_ for Satan’s sake, and he didn’t even care!

The realisation hit him like a lorry and he lurched back with a gasp. 

Crowley was attracted to Aziraphale. 

In a lustful way.

He was _ randy, _for the very first time in his whole existence. 

Infernal fuck. 

Aziraphale looked incredibly concerned at his sudden reaction so Crowley leaned down and kissed him briefly to assure him that everything was fine. Indeed, everything was more than fine. 

“C’mon, angel. Take me home,” Crowley breathed, not even realising what he had said. 

Home. Aziraphale thought it had a lovely ring to it. 

“Of course, my dear. Shall we?” He offered Crowley his arm again. 

Crowley took his hand instead and did his best not to sprint all the way back to the cottage. His legs were much longer than Aziraphale’s to begin with and he didn’t think breaking out into a run would convince him of his sound mind. 

Soon enough they were at the front door. Crowley didn’t bother with the keys, just waved the door open and dragged Aziraphale inside. They considered each other for a moment then Crowley all but pounced on him. 

The attraction was like a fever, burning up inside him and devouring his insecurity. Aziraphale eagerly kissed back. His hands reached up and tangled in the base of Crowley’s hair. The sensation caused a full-body shiver. He felt like he was simultaneously going to collapse and bounce into the ceiling. 

Luckily the wall was close behind and he stepped back one, two steps and he was flush against it. Aziraphale followed him, in this and all things, and Crowley was deliciously trapped between the angel and a hard place. Or two hard places, if he thought about it. 

Aziraphale thought this was a delightful end to the evening. He didn’t expect the necking to ‘go’ anywhere as it was a lovely stopping place all of its own. He did, however, grow terribly warm. He was generally warmer than most - something about heavenly Light - but now he was almost sweating. And that just wouldn't do. Aziraphale untangled his fingers and swiftly stripped off his jacket. He hung it on the rack next to Crowley’s head. 

The movement meant Aziraphale briefly separated from Crowley’s lips. In turn he was treated to the lovely image of Crowley’s flushed face thrown back, exposing that long column of ivory neck. 

Crowley couldn’t stop himself from letting out a low moan at the kisses Aziraphale placed there. He grew louder as the angel added a bit of teeth. Heat pulsed at the very core of him. 

Aziraphale released Crowley’s neck. He didn’t want to go too fast. They had barely discussed sex. 

“Do you want to retire for the evening, my dear?” 

Retire always meant sleep and cuddles, for Aziraphale. He was ridiculous like that.

Crowley panted as he processed the question, then shook his head. He wanted this, whatever it would be. 

Aziraphale paused. 

“Sweetheart, are you sure?” he asked in a gentle voice. 

Crowley sighed and then looked back at Aziraphale. His snakelike pupils were blown wide. He gave a movement that was somehow both a nod and a shrug. 

Aziraphale swallowed back tears. “Oh _ darling, _I love you so very much. Thank you for trusting me. Let me know what you like or, well, if you want to stop or anything. We can still go to bed you know,” he added. 

Bless Aziraphale and his fussing. 

Crowley cleared his throat. “I think…. I think I want this.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but kiss him at that. 

^^^

Crowley didn’t know there was such a thing as pleasantly sore until he woke up the next morning. There was a dull throb all over that pulled when he moved closer to Aziraphale, but he reveled in it. 

They were pressed impossibly close together. Crowley’s face was buried in Aziraphale’s plush, bare chest as he mumbled something unintelligible. 

It was incredibly domestic, and perfectly imperfect. As Aziraphale woke up properly he realised he had some of Crowley’s hair shoved in his mouth. It wasn’t exactly pleasant. The sheets were tangled around them in a way that did nothing to keep them warm or comfortable, and there was a twinge in his lower back when he shifted. It definitely wasn’t the picturesque, glowing morning after that media tried to sell them. But it was theirs. 

After luxuriating in it for a few moments Aziraphale could tell Crowley was awake. 

“Good morning, my dear.” 

Crowley let out a grunt in reply. Aziraphale moved to half-sit up to look at him properly. 

“I really hope you don’t mind me saying so but last night was,” he sighed, “wonderful. You were simply spectacular, Crowley, and I’m honoured you trust me with so much.” He slid a thick hand up Crowley’s bare arm. 

Crowley felt like he was going to discorporate with embarrassment. “You really are so sweet, and so _ good-” _Aziraphale’s speech was interrupted by the demon tackling him to the bed. 

“What have I ssssaid about four letter wordssss, angel?” he hissed. It would have been intimidating if not the fact that he was completely naked, his face had a large crease on it from when he was laying on the pillow, and his neck was covered in love bites. 

“Well, I mean. Maybe you’ll just have to shut me up, hmm?” Aziraphale challenged, a twinkle in his eye. 

Crowley leaned down enough so his hair fell around their kiss. Aziraphale just began to lean up into it when Crowley pulled away and rolled out of bed. 

“Race you to the shower, angel,” he said over his shoulder with a wink. He then ran off, lanky limbs flailing with their first significant use of the morning. 

“Oh, good _ Lord, _” Aziraphale said to the now empty room. He really was far too old for that kind of thing. 

^^^ 

Aziraphale began to pack as Crowley showered. He was a little morose, if he was being honest. The time they had spent in the cottage was so wonderful. He didn’t particularly want to leave. 

But that was nonsense. Their home in London waited for them. His books, Crowley’s records. They couldn’t just pack up and leave Soho, now, could they?

Could they? 

Aziraphale paused, mid-fold of his shirt, then shook himself. It was an absurd notion. 

Crowley wandered in, now mostly dressed, and helped. Well, helped in his own way. This mostly consisted of him picking up each item of clothing and commenting on where and when Aziraphale had gotten it and his own personal opinions. Luckily Aziraphale had completed the bulk of the work before Crowley started to 'assist' and they made it in time to a late breakfast. 

They planned to go straight from the cafe to London so Crowley was to drive. That meant Aziraphale had to say goodbye to their delightful cottage sooner than he would have liked. 

Crowley seemed to have none of the same issue, though it was hard to tell from behind his sunglasses. He could be feeling anything, really. Aziraphale didn’t want to push him, especially after last night. They both needed time to process. 

They contemplated their position over breakfast and the conversation was remarkably sparse between them, so lost were they in thought. When they got to the car Aziraphale could hardly recall if he had coffee or tea, let alone what he had eaten, which was most unusual for him. 

As he slid into the driver’s seat Crowley felt all number of things. The night before had been… indescribable. Something he never thought would happen. And now the light of morning had come and Aziraphale had seemed happy but also somewhat melancholic. It didn’t appear to be directed towards Crowley, though, for which he was thankful. Nevermind that now, he had to get them back to London. Distractions wouldn’t do him any good. 

Aziraphale miracled his tablet from their suitcases into his hand. He had to send their hosts a thank you note. 

Aziraphale was surprisingly adept at the modern technology, even one handed. It was only a few taps and he had brought up the email application in order to compose his message. 

Satisfied with what he had written he sent it off and 'locked' the device, placing it back in his lap. Crowley had tried to get him into e-books but he missed the feel of paper too much. Besides, most of his favourite titles were out of print. (Outside of his bookshop, anyway.)

Aziraphale had been staring out the window for some time when the tablet chimed. He frowned and opened it once more. He was surprised that Gertie and Violet had responded so quickly. 

They were thankful, in turn, for his note and said they were welcome back any time. And, if it was of any interest, the cottage was to be put on the market at the end of the year. They were traveling in the meantime then planned to move into a retirement village and wouldn’t require the property anymore. 

This gave Aziraphale pause. 

His faith hadn’t necessarily been quashed by the aborted apocalypse, but it certainly had been tested. It was quite ineffable, really, for him to be considering just the very idea this morning. And now to his surprise the cottage, which he had become infatuated with, could be his very own. His and Crowley’s. Theirs. 

Money was no issue, of course. He had become adept at miracling his funds just enough to not arouse legal suspicion. He glanced at Crowley who was focused on the road in front of him. He had always been the more changeable of the two of them, but it _ was _ awfully fast considering he had only moved into the bookshop a short while ago. 

There was still a decent leg of the trip left and Aziraphale thought about it for the rest of the journey. 

^^^

The sight of London greeted them like an old friend. Once they returned to the bookshop Crowley stalked off to “check on” his plants. Aziraphale could hear the low sounds of yelling even through the ceiling.

Aziraphale settled in his familiar armchair and just breathed for a while. Everything was okay. 

Still, the call of the cottage tempted him and he couldn’t resist looking at it on his tablet once again. 

He contemplated the website for who knows how long. When focused on something like this the rest of the world drifted away. 

It really wasn’t that much money, when he thought about it. Maybe he could rent it out, or use it as shelter for anyone who needed it. They could holiday there whenever they liked, go down for weekends. And that lovely couple did need to funds. It would be good for all of them, really. Even if Crowley didn’t want to go back… he had to try. He was determined to. 

Aziraphale had just put in his offer - which he had a funny feeling would be the one that was accepted - when Crowley came trundling down the stairs. He leaned against the doorway in what he thought to be a roguish way. 

“Dinner, angel?” he asked. 

“Oh, yes! I, ah, suppose it is that time. I thought we could stay in? I brought back such delicious produce…” he trailed off. 

Crowley pushed off the doorway and came to stand in front of him. “Sure thing. Want me to get the wine?” 

Aziraphale smiled. “That would be lovely, my dear.”

Crowley wandered off to do just that.

Aziraphale ducked into the kitchen to organise a grazing platter. He was interrupted by a phone call from a number he didn’t recognise. He took the call quietly as Crowley sauntered back. 

He offered up the bottle for inspection just as Aziraphale hung up. 

“Perfect. Shall we sit?” Aziraphale ushered him back to the chairs. “This is lovely, even if I do say so myself,” he babbled over the food. “Such wonderful countryside, wonderful people. Beautiful, really.” 

Crowley frowned at him. “What’s going on, angel? 

Aziraphale swallowed the piece of prosciutto he had been savouring. “Well, it’s, ah, better to show you, I suppose.” He wiped his hands on a napkin and produced his tablet. He got up the screen and refreshed it, then passed it to Crowley. 

Crowley stared at it for a while, then looked up. 

“I don’t understand. The cottage’s been sold. So what?” 

Aziraphale did his best not to infer anything from the lack of enthusiasm. 

“It’s been sold to _ me, _my dear,” he announced. “I purchased it.” 

“What?” Crowley’s mouth had fallen open while the rest of his face was scrunched up in confusion. 

“I just, well. Thought it was ever-so lovely, and Gertie and Violet need the money, I thought who better than me to buy it? I don’t mean to, ah, suppose anything, darling,” Aziraphale quickly added. “It can just be a holiday home, you know, to get away, we don’t have to...”

“Let’s move,” Crowley suddenly interrupted. 

It was Aziraphale’s turn to be shocked. “What?”

Crowley leaned in closer and pushed up his sunglasses. “Angel, I… I felt… happier, there,” he confessed. “With you.” 

“Oh, _ Crowley,_” Aziraphale gushed. 

Crowley tried to wave him off. “I know, I’m ridiculous, aren’t I?” 

“You’re lovely,” Aziraphale said firmly. 

He reached out and grabbed Crowley’s hand, then pulled it up to kiss the back of it. His misty blue eyes spilled over and Crowley reached out in turn to wipe away a tear. 

“Now I’m the ridiculous one. Just, the thought of us building a home, _ together. _I know you consider the bookshop yours, but it’s undeniably been, well, mine for so long. I’m a foolish old thing, really,” Aziraphale confessed. 

Crowley’s hold became a touch firm as he met Aziraphale’s eyes with his own. 

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.” 

^^^

_ Epilogue: twelve months later… _

We return now to the cottage. With the love and care attended by both of its residents, the home and garden bloomed, as did their relationship. The angel had become an apiarist, another way to nurture the efforts of his sweetheart. The demon yelled at his plants less, these days, lest he upset the bees. He liked to tease the angel over his Sherlock Holmes-esque hobby and enquired often if he was going to start solving the village’s mysteries. Aziraphale rolled his eyes good naturedly every time. 

In the warmer evenings they sat on the verandah out the back and reveled in their own private paradise. They drank and talked, or Aziraphale would read aloud, or they would sit in amiable silence, cuddled close together. 

Inside they shared the bedroom as they did all things. Crowley rarely had to use the excuse of being cold blooded to gain affection, these days. They were both getting better at the idea of deserving all of this. 

Downstairs there was a kitchen in which they attempted more than succeeded in producing something edible. They laughed all the while, and there was always the wine cellar when they failed. Most of the local restaurants had their take-away orders memorised, too.

The living room had its well-worn sofa and armchairs in which they sat. Aziraphale liked Crowley in his lap, most of the time. Crowley liked it too, though it was still difficult to admit without blushing. Sometimes they pushed the coffee table away to dance together, right there in the middle of the floor. 

The angel had his books, of course, though it was now a private library rather than a shop. It always seemed to have just the title someone in the community needed but couldn’t get at the small public library the next town over. Funny, that. Loaning rather than selling brought him much more joy and far less anxiety.

They still returned to the city, on occasion. Aziraphale couldn’t completely abandon his wards of Soho. Sometimes they both missed the bright lights, or decent sushi, or the theatre. Rarer still they traveled further afield, but they always came back home. 

Home. 

They had a garden and the cottage and the sea. They had each other and their community; their various friends and quasi-relations. And above all, they had the joy of spending each and every new day together. 

Aziraphale and Crowley never needed to celebrate February fourteenth anymore than they did every other day of the calendar. They didn’t need the narrow, restrictive idea of being romantically “in love” with one another. Why would they, when they were surrounded by love in so many other ways? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, posting this chapter means I've published over 100,000 words of fanfic this year. Wow!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are life and I would love it if you left one or both. 
> 
> As always, feel free to get in touch on my tumblr @ineffable-anathema


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